


Happiness in Misery

by verdantspace



Series: I see red (How could someone wicked walk 'round free) [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Red Robin (Comics), Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - College/University, Crossover, F/F, Gen, How Do I Tag, M/M, MY SONS, Omega Keith, anyways this story doesn't focus on a specific pairing it's just Tim and Keith interacting, band au, kinda sorta, omega tim, wow look at those tags it doesn't even make any sense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2018-12-26 13:06:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12059580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verdantspace/pseuds/verdantspace
Summary: They were more than just two Omegas commiserating their shitty lives together, because they were actually going to do something about it—something crazy, probably bordering on illegal, if the manic glint in Tim’s eyes was any indication.(AKA very self-indulgent fic of Tim and Keith and their struggles as Omegas.)





	1. One: The Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> So in my current inactive status from social media to deal with the shitstorm that is my life, I also took some time to start reading DC—batfam specifically—and simultaneously launched into Voltron hell. I've seen a lot of crossovers of these fandoms bc pls,, Shiro's white streak,,, who does that remind u of :))))
> 
> Anyways I love my sons Tim n Keith they're my jewels my precious my everYTHING so I decided to write a lil AU...? Of them. Being in a band together. YAY. (I just want my sons to interact pls forgive this self indulgent mess).
> 
> Before we start I'm gonna do a little disclaimer that yes, there is a possibility that some characters may act OOC bc this is an AU, and it's omegaverse (yes I am a Trash who enjoys ABO). I try my hardest to stay as close to their characterization in canon, but if u guys think smth is off pls don't hesitate to tell me in the comments! :DD
> 
> This is a one-shot consisting of 2 parts so I'll post part 2 tomorrow...? Maybe...? Pray for me guys I also still don't know where the hell I'm taking this thing T_T
> 
> That said, thank u n happy reading<3
> 
> P.S. Title taken from Fall Out Boy's I Don't Care

It was a quiet afternoon; the silence broken only by the sound of hinges creaking. Tim winced, because he was supposed to be stealthy when breaking into one of the Academy’s restricted areas. He let his eyes sweep through the rooftop—a contrast to any other place within the Academy, it was poorly maintained. The tiles were dusty and Tim could see some of them cracking here and there, which could be considered hazardous, yes, but in his opinion, labeling the area as “restricted” was a tad bit extra.

He pocketed his lock pick and took a step forward, ready to enjoy a solitary moment with the afternoon sun, which glowed so prettily in the sky. Tim wasn’t the take a stroll and smell the flowers type of guy, but after all the things he had been through today, he decided it was time to appreciate Mother Nature and some of her gifts. Because humans were assholes and didn’t deserve appreciation.

Just as he was tilting his head back to bask in the warmth of the sun, he caught movement to his left. He wasn’t alone.

Something in Tim was ready to wail, and he was on the verge of shaking his fists toward the sun, because how _dare_ she betray him on this one moment that he had committed for a hot date with her. No pun intended.

As tempted as he was to get rid of this person, confrontation would require the use of energy and to be perfectly honest, Tim didn’t have any of that to spare. Just as he was walking back toward the door, a haze of _something_ wafted through the air around him and Tim could feel his hackles rising. Instincts taking center stage, Tim reflexively inhaled the scent and his brain synapses started firing, sending messages that were mostly centered along the base of his spine.

Tim’s secondary sex responded accordingly, curling and unfurling along his consciousness, all silent whispers and encouragements of _Alpha, there’s an Alpha nearby, be pliant, be obedient, be good enough for_ keeping _, God, we need to be taken care of—_ that Tim tried hard to squash down because damn it, this plan to have a pleasant evening of relaxation really went downhill, didn’t it?

As he was trampling down his inner Omega, a realization hit him and Tim’s eyes went wide. The scent was undeniably Alpha, but it lacked a signature, an element that made each Alpha differ from one another. It was a pleasant smell, something that pleased his Omega instincts, but it was—for lack of better words—impersonal.

In the recesses of his mind, Tim’s eidetic memory managed to push forward a recollection of a certain lab room, bathed in fake fluorescent lights that reflected themselves on Miss Isley’s white robe. He remembered a coy grin, a red arch on neatly powdered face as Miss Isley shoved a test tube in front of Tim’s nose. Tim remembered trying hard not to let his eyelids droop, but they did despite his best efforts. Maybe it was due to the inevitable effect of Alpha scent clouding his mind, and the added awareness that he was safe and secure with another Omega in her territory. An Omega who was a genius in chemistry, and had succeeded in synthesizing an artificial Alpha scent that most—if not all—Omegas would find very agreeable.

 _Potent, isn’t it?_ was Miss Isley’s smug admission, _to help us through the busy days and lonely nights, because God knows most Alphas aren’t worth all the hard work._ The line was delivered with a little wink that Tim answered with an almost manic laugh because holy shit, this solved _so many_ of his problems, I love you, Miss Isley. Predictably, she brushed off his attempt of high five-ing her, but she did accept his offer to have lunch together in a bourgeois Italian restaurant that Tim’s parents used to frequent. All in all, it was a great afternoon.

It seemed that Miss Isley also went with her plan of commercializing her potent, because evidently someone else—a certain someone who was interrupting Tim’s rooftop date with the sun—had gotten a hold of it. Tim’s mind eye supplied him with the image of Miss Isley rolling around in a fuckload amount of cash, and a fond smile played at the corner of his mouth.

The possibility of the potent being stolen flitted through Tim’s mind, but he quickly dismissed the thought because if there was one thing he knew about Miss Isley, it was that the woman was as savage as she was resourceful, and the combination often didn’t go well for people with ill intentions toward her. If this person actually stole it from Miss Isley, they wouldn’t be lounging around on the rooftop—interrupting Tim’s moment—because she would have used them as organic plant fertilizer or something. She took her gardening hobby very seriously, this was a known fact.

Still, Tim’s natural inclination to investigate got the better of him and before he knew it, he was walking toward the source of that scent. Upon closer observation, he was finally one hundred percent certain that the concoction was Miss Isley’s, and that the apparatus spreading the scent to the air was a rolled cigarette, perched loosely on a boy’s lips.

The boy was a fellow student, their Academy issued blazer draped on narrow shoulders that tapered down into slim waist, wrapped in simple white shirt. The first two buttons of the shirt were undone, tie absent, and instead of dark slacks, skintight black jeans showcased the boy’s long legs. Everything about his attire was teenage rebellion printed on bright neon billboard, and Tim raised an eyebrow in amusement.

Through the haze of smoke, the boy finally snapped out of his silent reverie and took Tim in. Tim stood his ground upon the scrutiny, and after one full minute of staring each other down—oh, the boy’s eyes were a unique shade of dark violet—he smiled in what he hoped was amiable fashion.

“Hi, there,” Tim began, taking a step forward and smiling wider in relief when the other boy didn’t make a move to avoid him, “Miss Isley’s artificial Alpha pheromones? Genius, isn’t it, that she managed to synthesize the type of odor that is just right for everyday needs. Like, it’s not overwhelmingly intense or anything, just enough to soothe every O’s need to have that sense of Alpha presence without actually having to belong in a pack with one or casually date one, because not all of us is ace at the relationship department, obviously.”

Tim paused to have a little laugh, a hint of self-depreciation sneaking into his tone. The logical part of his brain was aghast at his own word vomit, but he couldn’t take the words back and he sure as hell didn’t know how to take the awkward out of the situation, so he did one thing he actually knew how. He trudged on.

“I can’t believe she didn’t tell me when she finally patented the stuff, because believe me, I would’ve been her very first customer because holy fuck, Pamela Isley’s brain is a gift upon this _world_ , and I wonder if she’s planning to make a stronger version because it’s fabulous for everyday use but I personally prefer something more intense for Heats, y’know?” He shrugged, downplaying a twinge of bitterness that settled itself on the back of his mind. He stared back at his conversation partner—the one who he hadn’t given a chance to speak back—to gauge his reaction. Tim didn’t necessarily showcase his secondary gender, but he didn’t bother to hide it either.

The boy’s eyes widened considerably through Tim’s babble, and when he finally opened his mouth, he admitted, “I don’t know anything about a Miss Isley. My friend told me this is the good stuff and shoved a pack into my pocket. Been hooked since.”

Tim’s jaw dropped open because _seriously?_ “You don’t know Pamela Isley? Lustrous red hair, signature green suit, chem extraordinaire, nature preservation activist, hottest woman in the whole Academy? Heck, maybe even the whole _city_.”

An uneasy smile settled on the boy’s lips, but he still kept eye contact with Tim as he said, “Maybe I’ve heard of her but I definitely haven’t seen her. I’m a pilot.”

And that made a lot more sense because the part of the Academy that focused on aviation training usually kept to themselves. What didn’t really add up was the wince that painted the other boy’s expression immediately after that admission. Knowing better than to pry, Tim only stood there, letting the boy decide if he wanted to elaborate. Before he had the chance to fill the silence with another word vomit, the other boy beat him to it.

“Well. Used to be training to be a pilot. Doesn’t really matter now.”

It took three seconds for it all to click, and Tim exhaled a quiet _oh_. He eyed the boy and scooted closer so the two of them were leaning against the railing.

“Career counseling?” Tim offered quietly, and if his deductions were right, he and the boy had a lot more in common than he expected.

“Yeah,” The boy took a deep drag of his cigarette, took in the calming Alpha pheromones in large dosage, and Tim wondered if that was his goal, taking more than the prescribed amount so that the effect would surpass calming and went into _numbing_ territory.

The term “substance abuse” floated around in Tim’s mind, but a bitter, jaded piece of him didn’t try to stop the boy because he had more than an idea of what he ( _they_ ) was going through. To be honest, Tim could probably go for some numbness right now.

The two of them stood in almost comfortable silence until the violet-eyed boy broke it.

“So a shit bomb dropped on you, too, huh?” He commented casually, a hint of hoarseness in his voice. When Tim didn’t immediately supply him with an answer, the boy turned to him, an easy quirk on his lips as he did so.

“I’m Keith,” he said, suddenly dropping his name and offered Tim his cigarette instead of a handshake. Tim stared at the object trapped between slender fingers from a few moments before breaking into a laugh and shaking his head in amusement. Well, if they were about to trade saliva via Alpha cig, they should probably know each other’s names first. Tim could go with that logic.

“Tim Drake,” he informed as he took the stick from Keith’s hand. He had never smoked conventional cigarette before, but Miss Isley’s product carried none of the bitterness of tobacco smoke, and it made it easier to inhale and swallow. It was gentle Alpha essence, a cloud of smoke (it smelled so damned _good_ ) that transformed into an almost ghostly presence inside of him, administering phantom caresses that made his internal Omega purr in contentment. He was on the verge of launching into another fanboy rant dedicated to Pamela Isley when something registered in his brain.

“Wait. Keith? As in Keith Kogane?”

Keith’s eyebrows shot up toward his hairline. “Yeah. But how do you—”

“Duuuude. You were number two on space tech mock exam last year!”

Tim remembered staring at the board with Ives, his own name at number one and an unfamiliar student’s name printed beneath it. He arched his eyebrow through Ives’ rant of _who the hell is that how why I’m gonna find the mofo_ because he didn’t really care who the mystery guy was. Even so, he had to admit that it was unusual for someone outside of their department to take the mock exam, and even more unusual for that someone to rank so high.

Mystery solved, apparently, because the perp was standing in front of Tim, hand outstretched as if waiting for Tim to hand back the cig. Tim indulged his request.

“Oh, that. Yeah,” Keith mumbled through a mouthful of smoke, “wanted to test my abilities on the mechanics because there’s no way of telling what might happen on the field. Turned out pretty well, huh?”

Tim made a mental note not to introduce Keith to Ives anytime soon because he’d like to avoid his best friend screeching his ear off, thank you very much.

“Lemme guess, top of the class?”

Keith gave him a side glance, complete with a decorated smirk that was equal parts smug and confident and so fucking hot and wow, this afternoon didn’t completely suck balls, thank Heavens.

Before Tim could enjoy more of the display, Keith dropped the smirk with a sigh and tapped off the ash from his cig. “Almost perfect score on simulators, too. But like I said, it doesn’t matter because the Instructors won’t let an O go anywhere near the fighter birds. Except for maintenance.”

Tim felt his molars grind together, the movement almost instinctual in the face of the perpetual bullshit that Omegas had to deal with every single day. “That... That sucks, man,” he offered, because what else was left to say?

“Tell me about it,” Keith passed the cig back to Tim and leaned his whole body on the railing. The construction looked sturdy and Keith was on the small side so it shouldn’t be too dangerous, but Tim surreptitiously moved closer to the other boy, just in case.

“They told me the position of cargo is open for me anytime, but fuck no, I won’t settle for being a _cargo pilot_ , because I _know_ I have the skill set to be so much more. Something that they dismiss entirely on the dangers of what, the possibility of me whining for Alpha knot in the middle of an airborne fight? What kind of logic is _that_?”

Tim let Keith finish his rant and reached out to lightly pat Keith’s back, close to his nape but not too close, testing the waters. Keith’s body went rigid at first, and then he was all sharp edges and fast movement (like dagger personified) as he turned around to regard Tim with flaming eyes. The other Omega was quick to step out of Keith’s bubble, raising both of his arms in a placating gesture. He didn’t say anything to support the gesture—Tim was kind of shit at words, anyway, so that might be a good call. Instead, he listened to his instincts and went sub-vocal. He recognized the low, rumbling purrs as his own, making their way out of his lungs in an attempt to appeal to the other Omega, to make it known that he meant no harm or disrespect. He also took a step back, conveying that he would readily disappear from Keith’s one-mile radius, should the other boy desire him to.

(Tim seldom gave up the tightly reigned control he had over his instincts, but he felt something—a feeling of comfortably easing into his inner Omega, all because of a young Omega he met by chance. Tim’s investigative trait was screaming _what why how_ but he tampered it down for now, because as much as he was reluctant to admit, it actually wasn’t such a bad thing. He definitely needed to look into this, though.)

In the end, Tim’s efforts didn’t go to waste, evident from the way Keith gradually went slack, the fight seeping out of him. He gave Tim a weary smile and a mumbled _sorry, man,_ before a sigh that was heavier than the world forced its way out of Keith’s throat. He closed his eyes for a split second before taking the cigarette back from Tim.

They eased into a rhythm; passing the cigarette back and forth in strangely companionable silence. When the burning head was only an inch away from the filter, Tim let out a little cough to earn Keith’s attention.

“You’re not gonna ask me about my story?” Tim asked, abruptly, because it was only fair.

Keith’s eyes went heavenward, contemplative, while Tim waited, secretly jittery because the clinical, logical part of him wasn’t sure that he wanted to lay it all out in front of a stranger. But there was also the fact that their short interaction had been filled with a sense of camaraderie that Tim had never felt before. He had a few Omega friends, sure, but none of them resonated as well as the boy in front of him. Tim didn’t know what it was, but it felt nice, finding someone that was on the same wavelength as him, on the same boat, and it was easy to give into his instinct’s urges to get closer.

Tim was trained in the art of suppressing his instinct, and the easy way Keith brought it out of him was equal parts scary and exciting. He wasn’t sure which emotion was more dominant, but he swallowed the fear because the offer was out, anyway, and he focused on Keith’s reply. The other boy only shrugged before saying,

“I won’t ask you for anything you wouldn’t give.”

The relief washed over Tim in pleasant waves and he gave Keith a sly grin before lightly punching the other boy’s shoulder. He relished in Keith’s answering little frown because it was _adorable_.

“My family owns a business, Drake Industries,” he started, looking at the sky because it helped clear his head, “it’s kinda dormant right now, has been since my parents’ death, but we still have the assets and the papers and I applied to this Academy because I wanted to take the wheel as soon as I graduate.”

The hardest part—the loss of his parents—came out of his mouth with a slight tremor, but Keith didn’t comment on it. He only let out a small sound, encouraging, and Tim continued.

“I’m a mechanical engineering major, with some IT on the side because I love computers and tech, but I also took business classes because it was necessary knowledge,” he confessed, “schedule was tight, sleep was nearly _impossible_ , my friends had to drag me out for meals and make sure I didn’t die, but I managed, and passed everything. Not all of them were perfect scores, but I sure as hell aced the ones that matter. But all of that went to shitville because the law dictates,” he had to pause, take a breath, grit his teeth, “that an Omega can’t be CEO. Not even majority shareholder, because my parents’ assets technically aren’t mine.”

Before Tim could elaborate, Keith whispered, “They’re your future Alpha’s.”

In an attempt to lighten up the mood, Tim swayed on the ball of his feet and grinned up at Keith, “Excellent deduction, Detective.”

“Top of the class.”

“Number one fighter pilot, don’t forget.”

“At least I’m not the overachieving bastard who abandoned the concept of slumber in his attempt to pursue the holy grail of education.”

Both of them were silent for three whole seconds before they broke into guffaws, loud and unrestrained, and Tim wondered if they could hear them all the way from the first floor. His day was still shitty, and he knew that it wasn’t realistic for him or Keith to turn their life around anytime soon, because rules concerning Omegas had been around since the discovery of the secondary genders, and they wouldn’t change overnight. Yet for now, he let himself have this; the joy of finding a comrade in equally crappy situation, and maybe they could combine their brilliant minds to help each other escape crapland, but as of this moment, laughing his ass off felt so _good_ and he had Keith to thank for that.

As they settled down to choked wheezes, they made eye contact and for the first time, Tim could properly appreciate just how handsome Keith really was. His big, expressive eyes were glossy with tears of mirth, the arch of his eyebrows slender but strong, and the blush of happiness were a pretty pink color on the apples of his cheeks. His plump lips were stretched in a wide smile, and Tim decided that happiness was a good look on Keith.

“You’re not half bad, Drake,” Keith said, wiping the corners of his eyes.

“You too, man. And don’t call me Drake, I’m definitely hotter than him.”

Keith chuckled before diverting his line of sight to the crowd of students below them, “I hope you’re talking about the rapper and not your father.”

Before Tim could retort, something shifted in Keith’s expression, and Tim could read anger in the narrowing of his eyes. It wasn’t the same rage as before, the one tinged with frustration and bitterness over a seemingly bleak situation. This was colder, more calculative, and clearly concentrated on one person. Tim followed Keith’s glare and found a boy in the center of a circle, huge and boisterous and evidently _Alpha_ , and wondered what the fucker did to deserve to be on the end of Keith’s line of fire. The Omega in Tim wanted to calm him down, avoid inevitable conflict, but the man in him was smirking in anticipation, ready to assist his comrade in any way he could.

“What is it,” he inquired, stepping closer to Keith and tilting his head up to make up for their small height difference.

Keith hummed lowly, like he was considering something, until he finally looked back at Tim and asked, “You got a disposable object? Anything I can throw?”

Tim dug through his pants for a spare coin and found his lock pick instead. He gave Keith the object with a sheepish grin and the other boy chuckled in response. Keith tested the weight of the lock pick in his hand before throwing it at the direction of the unsuspecting Alpha boy.

Tim wasn’t surprised in the least, and he ducked before Keith even had the chance to tug him down. Keith’s trajectory must have been spot on, because a litany of curses was heard from the general direction of the crowd, one voice in particular sounding angry and confused.

That forced another bout of chortles through Tim and Keith’s throats, but they tried to stifle it this time, because as entertaining as it would be to watch the Alpha’s face contorting in anger, they preferred not to have anyone interrupt this unexpected fun time they were having on the rooftop.

“Who was that?” Tim asked through scattered breaths.

“My ex. Vocalist, soccer athlete, and Alpha jerk extraordinaire,” Keith sneered through his laughs, spitting the words out, “kicked me out of the band just before the annual dance party because he couldn’t risk having an O on guitar for a very important night.”

Keith made the mock air quote with a hint of that cold rage still painting his features, and Tim might be a little in love.

“Did you kick his ass for that?” Tim asked even though he already knew the answer.

A shit-eating grin, and Keith confessed, “More like knee his balls, and it was the tragic end of our teenage romance.”

Tim giggled, mumbled a “sorry for your loss” with an expression that spelled out “good riddance”.

Thanks to that, Keith’s easy smile was back, but it wasn’t nearly as mirthful as it was before the jerk Alpha showed up, and Tim wanted to remedy that. He considered himself very good at planning, strategically following the steps that he’d made himself to achieve his goal, and right now his brain was supplying him with a very tempting offer; a little mission to honor Keith’s revenge.

“Hey,” he called, nudging his friend—he hoped it was safe to say that they were friends now—with an elbow, and asked, “you play guitar?”

Keith nodded his assent and a feral grin split Tim’s face nearly in two.

“Let’s take center stage.”

***

Keith seldom met other Omegas.

He was the only one in his class and definitely the only one vying for the position of fighter pilot. Everyone around him was either skeptical or scandalized over the idea of it, because like it or not, it was instilled in the general population’s minds that an Omega would never achieve—let alone thrive in—a position that required high level of intellect and fierce fighting instincts.

Everyone, except for Shiro. The older man kept Keith’s hopes up, answered each and every one of his late night phone calls despite his busy hours at the ER, and always with a smile on his voice. Most of their conversation didn’t last for more than twenty minutes, because while the Omega in Keith craved the attention, the warm feeling of safety that Shiro’s voice provided—Keith wasn’t _weak_ , okay, it wasn’t his fault Shiro’s voice was so potent—he also knew that he had no right to bask in it for longer than necessary. They weren’t mates, and even though he’d known Shiro for as long as he could remember, it still wasn’t right to take advantage of his kindness like that.

Shiro was an Alpha with a heart of gold, and the idea of an Omega in distress—an Omega who was also his oldest friend—must be the thing that triggered his instincts to soothe and protect every time Keith’s name flashed on his display screen. And as much as he _loathed_ admitting it, Keith was an Omega in distress. The amount of sneering and harassment that he had to deal with almost every single day was endurable, but it also took a toll on him. Keith didn’t belong to any pack, so he found himself reverting to the same old pattern over and over again; nuzzling into the phantom of Shiro’s warmth through the tinny, soothing voice on the receiver.

Keith had taken the habit of inhaling artificial Alpha scent after he’d deliberately deprived himself of Shiro’s calls for the weeks of his final exams. Two weeks in, Keith had to begrudgingly admit to himself that he was a sore loser because he was almost dead on his feet if it wasn’t for Lance. The other boy had conjured himself out of nowhere, shoved a pack of cigarette down Keith’s pocket, and proceeded to peace out with a finger gun and a _stay alive, bro,_ delivered Keith’s way. Keith wasn’t sure if Lance was actually of the human species, but he was also eternally grateful for his friend’s existence.

He was supposed to call Shiro after the dreaded career counseling, after the final nail in the cold, unforgiving coffin. After the realization that _everyone_ had been right; that all his hard work, all his sacrifices, the tears and blood he had spilled for four whole years of training and education at the Academy was all for nothing. Nada. Zilch. Because no matter how skilled he was, there was no disputing the ground rule of aviation; Omegas weren’t allowed at a fighter’s helm.

He threw a temper tantrum and also quite literally threw a desk lamp in the general direction of the counselor, and had to be physically dragged out of the office. The staffers who showed him the way out—he could _walk_ by himself, thank you very much—reassured him that he didn’t have to worry, that the Academy would still be thrilled to have him as their finest cargo pilot if he ever decided to change his mind. Keith could feel the bone of his knuckles grinding in his fists because the utter fucking _gall_ of these people, oh my God.

Nevertheless, he decided to obey his Omega instincts for once, choosing flight over fight. Maybe it was because he didn’t want to draw any more attention to himself, maybe it was because he was just so _fed up_ with everything, or maybe it was because he didn’t want them to see his tears, that he tried so hard to suppress as he sprinted toward the direction of the rooftop, where he knew he could be alone.

Through the rush of wind rustling his hair and the tears prickling his eyes, he felt a mixture of rage, hopelessness, and a profound sense of relief warring inside of him. The third emotion was purely his inner Omega, who was appeased by the idea of Keith failing his life mission because it also meant that he wouldn’t unnecessarily risk his life on a daily basis. The thought of dying before ever bonding with a pack—furthermore, dying _not_ for the sake of said pack—made the Omega shudder in fear.

Keith had spent his whole life endeavoring to thwart that pointless fear, only to have a humongous amount of proverbial shit dropped on his efforts because apparently, the esteemed Academy would never risk the life of a _precious, rare male Omega_ by giving him the position of fighter pilot.

At this point, Keith had reached the rooftop—the tallest point of the Academy—and took a few strides to approach the railing. As he looked down, he wondered if he should just pancake himself on the hard concrete eight stories below, a symbolic middle finger to the Academy’s attempt of protecting _precious Omega life_.

He shook his head and decided against it, even though the idea actually brought a smile to his lips and damn, was he fucked up.

He lighted his cigarette with one hand and attempted to text with the other, the message a simple direction of don’t bother looking for him because he needed to chainsmoke, and no, don’t tell Shiro. He could almost imagine the concern on Lance, Hunk, and Pidge’s face, but honestly, he didn’t want to deal with them right now.

Shutting off his phone seemed like a valid solution, albeit temporary, so he did just that.

He proceeded to go through his plan; lighting his cigarette one after another, so lost in thought that he didn’t register the sound of tentative footsteps until the owner of said footsteps was approximately one foot away from where Keith stood.

He saw a grin, and that mouth moved to form words.

“Hi, there,” the boy greeted, “Miss Isley’s artificial Alpha pheromones?”

***

Tim Drake came barging into Keith’s life by lock picking the door—unsurprisingly, in the literal sense.

Keith didn’t know what to expect when a preppy looking boy with too long hair and an oversized blazer approached him on the rooftop. Keith was chest deep in misery when the other boy made first contact, blue eyes almost frenzied as he went on about Miss Isley and how she deserved an altar for synthesizing an Alpha scent that would help countless Omegas go through their everyday life.

From that little ramble, Tim also admitted that he was an Omega—a fellow Omega—and Keith wondered if that was the factor that set the base of their whole interaction.

Keith wasn’t a sociable person; even on his best days, people hesitated to approach him because of his _resting bitch face_ (God, he actually heard that in _Lance’s voice_ ) or due to the fact that he was an Omega. A rare, male Omega, who also happened to be the most brilliant pilot the Academy had seen in the last decade.

Tim didn’t hesitate to approach Keith. The other boy was noticeably nervous, evident from his word vomit, but he quickly gained confidence after Keith gradually opened up to him. And boy, was Keith glad that he decided to go with instincts and let the other Omega into his space, because confidence looked _good_ on Tim.

Timid movements were quickly replaced by ridiculous gestures (and Keith thought Lance could finger gun), and word vomits turned into quirky puns and snarky comebacks. He pulled mirth and laughter right out of Keith’s body, making happiness simmer on the surface and Keith actually forgot his misery for a moment to enjoy the unusual company.

He didn’t know exactly why his inner Omega seemed to like Tim so much—maybe the fact that they were both brilliant human beings who had worked their very _bones_ for a goal that they wanted to achieve, only to have it taken away from them because of damned biology.

That might be the general gist of it, but after taking their Omega instincts out of the equation, Keith concluded that there was something more. They were more than just two Omegas commiserating their shitty lives together, because they were actually going to do something about it—something crazy, probably bordering on illegal, if the manic glint in Tim’s eyes was any indication.

Keith was aware that a word as powerful as ‘faith’ shouldn’t be thrown around recklessly, but God help them all, it was the first word that came into his mind when Tim Drake took his hand and pulled him along to take a leap.

 


	2. Two: The Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is it, the night their plan would come into fruition.

At first glance, Tim’s plan appeared to be a doomed cocktail of crazy and improbable. Keith eyed the other boy with skeptical eyes, but Tim stopped him with a hand in front of Keith’s face.

“Nuh uh uh,” Tim said, “Let me worry about the details, okay? You just focus on the guitar.”

Brows still furrowed, Keith reluctantly agreed as he picked up the music sheet.

“Attention? Really?”

Tim only grinned. “It’s catchy, in the hype, and most people enjoy it so the possibility of us getting thrown off the stage before finishing the first verse is slimmer.”

Keith didn’t say anything to that so Tim gave him a thumb’s up, and promptly busied himself with whatever he was doing with his phone. Keith’s attempts at poking him were thoroughly ignored, and even though that made Keith’s eye twitch in irritation, he wasn’t really in the mood for arguing. Heaving an exasperated sigh, Keith went back to the papers he had in his hands.

The music sheet was simple enough; something Keith could learn in a span of two weeks, at most, and the dance party was one month away. He had to give it to Tim, though; Keith didn’t even _think_ that the other boy was speaking in the literal sense when he said “take center stage”.

“Is your friend still on board?” Tim asked abruptly, and Keith paused mid strumming to give him his attention.

“They pretty much have their hands on the sticks, already,” Keith winced, remembering the way Pidge’s eyes light up when Keith asked them to contribute. “Said they’ve been craving for some ‘action’ lately.”

The remark earned him a leveled gaze from Tim, whose blue eyes turned stony in a way that sent chills down Keith’s spine. Tim was all intense stares and clipped tones when he got serious, and Keith hadn’t quite adjusted to that particular trait of his.

“Pre-recorded only, Keith,” Tim said, spelling it out slowly, deliberately, “it’s bad enough that Miss Isley wants to be an active participant, even though I told her I’m perfectly capable of making the concoction myself.”

“It was her call, Tim. I’m sure she’s aware of the consequences.” Keith reasoned, strumming a gentle C on his guitar.

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it. It could be her career on the line.”

“From the way you talk about her, I doubt she’s sharing that sentiment.”

A ghost of a smile graced Tim’s lips, and it was with a chuckle that he said, “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. But that also means I’m not risking anyone else so tell Pidge their help is greatly appreciated, but please don’t push it.”

Keith only gave him raised eyebrows in response, because it’d take a gargantuan effort to convince Pidge that having them on stage was a bad idea. Well. He could always drop the little menace on Tim if push comes to shove. A little something nudged at the back of his head, though.

“So you’re not worried about me?” He delivered the line nonchalantly, eyes still glued on the music sheet, concentrating to make little notes.

Instantly, Tim’s body went rigid. Keith felt the weight of his gaze, and didn’t hesitate to stare back.

“Say the word and all this goes under the rug.”

Keith released a breath he didn’t know he was holding and felt something in his chest unravel. He wasn’t fishing for a specific reaction from Tim when he threw the question, but it was nice to know that the other boy actually cared about Keith’s wellbeing—that the mission was all about the two of them, as a unit, that Tim wasn’t chasing some other endgame to pursue his personal agenda.

Speech wasn’t Keith’s strong suit, so he showed his determination by skill; flawlessly playing the first few chords on his guitar before opening his mouth.

“Let’s get it done, Tim. Together.”

A bright grin blossomed on Tim’s face, a sign that he received Keith’s message, and Keith felt the corners of his mouth curling into a small smile.

***

This is it, the night their plan would come into fruition.

Keith was standing in front of the entrance; a well-constructed archway that the dance committee had especially built for the occasion. He could appreciate the amount of detail and time that the team had obviously dedicated for this construct, and almost felt bad about executing their plan—one that could potentially ruin the night for everyone. _Almost_ being the keyword, because it was too late to chicken out by now.

Turning his attention to the drop off point, Keith kept an eye out for Tim’s familiar silhouette. The other boy had told him that he was running a bit late (“Why are fucking ties so difficult to _tie_ , it doesn’t even make sense—”) and that it was okay if Keith wanted to mingle before they rendezvous to proceed with stage one of their plan.

Keith definitely wasn’t being dramatic when he said that the word “mingle” only made him experience literal cramps, so yeah. He’d rather wait for Tim, thanks.

He was thumbing open his phone to check his messenger apps (five unread messages from Shiro) when Tim’s familiar voice called out for him. When Keith raised his head, he couldn’t help but to gawk.

Tim wasn’t horrible when it came to dressing himself, but he also didn’t put any extra effort into it. His clothing style was lazy, casual, and very practical, preferring comfort over fashion. Keith was so used to the band t-shirts, the polo shirts, the worn, form fitting jeans, occasional caps, and the generic outerwears that he didn’t even think to prepare himself for this.

 _This_ being the sight of Tim when he actually put that brilliant mind into something, which, in this case, was his outfit of the night. He was dressed to the nines in a midnight blue suit that was tailored to perfection, hugging his form in all the right places.

Keith noticed some details; the Italian fit (perfect for Tim’s slender build), no vents, simple notch lapels, jetted pockets, and of course, the pants.

Tim was on the small side—standing at about 5’5” compared to Keith’s 5’6”—so Keith never really paid attention to the fact that he was almost seventy percent legs. Not until now, at least, when said legs were nicely accentuated by slim fitting trousers, and Keith’s eyes couldn’t help but to follow their length down, _down_ , until the fabric ended right on top of polished brown shoes.

“Damn,” Keith whispered softly, with feelings.

Tim, the asshole, actually snickered at his reaction. “Thanks, dude. I need that boost of confidence.”

“You don’t need it, Tim, trust me.”

The grin on Tim’s face was all fangs when he took his turn to run appreciative eyes along Keith’s burgundy three-piece suit.

“You don’t look too bad, yourself, cadet.”

Keith’s face twisted in disgust and he reached a hand to ruffle Tim’s hair, earning an indignant squeak from the other boy.

“Don’t call me that, ever again.”

“I just got this done!” Tim squawked, pointing at his—now messy—hair.

Keith ignored his complaints and took Tim’s hand, blissfully unaware of the pointed stares and hushed whispers around them. He felt the tension in Tim’s hand, frowned in confusion, and tugged the other Omega closer.

“What is it?”

“People are staring,” Tim mumbled, sharp eyes taking in the crowds around them.

True enough, a number of students had their eyes on Tim and Keith, some outwardly gawking at their joined hands. Keith could hear some scandalized murmurs, and of course. In this crappy reality they lived in, relationships between Omegas were frowned upon. Keith had just about _enough_.

“Drop the fucking stares,” Keith barked, “he’s with me. We’re with each other and yes, we’re Omegas, big fucking _deal_.”

His little burst had the desired effect. Most students dropped their stares almost immediately, not wanting to ignite Keith’s infamous temper. Some (Alphas) sneered and growled at the display of apparent insolence. Keith only narrowed his eyes in distaste, readying himself to show them what kind of _shit_ they were in when he felt Tim’s fingers between the spaces of his own, squeezing tight and offering supplication.

“Keith,” Tim spoke, clear and steady, “they’re not worth it,” another squeeze, “come on, you promised me the night of my life.”

The underlying message of _we’ll show these assholes, but not now_ was clear enough. Keith wasn’t the type to go down without a fight, though, so he flaunted their joined hands—more intimate now, fingers intertwining instead of barely touching—and put on a scowl on his face, daring anyone to say anything about their togetherness.

Apparently, Tim disapproved of the negative vibes.

“Relax, lion boy,” Tim said as he literally poked Keith’s frown away (how dare he), “we’ll have the last laugh when we bring this house down. Try not to get us kicked out of the building before that, okay?”

Keith made an indignant noise deep from within his throat, but agreed. Begrudgingly, mind you, because he was edgy like that.

They made their way toward the main hall, where the heart of the dance party was bustling with students and teachers alike. Some teachers—ones who weren’t absolute bigots, apparently—approached Tim, giving him handshakes and pats on the back.

“You’re famous among teachers,” Keith observed.

Tim winced. “Yeah, it’s... They technically remember me because I slept in classes. A lot.”

“Why am I not surprised.”

“Shut up.”

Fifteen minutes in, and a very jolly looking woman whose hair had turned completely white stopped them on their track. She offered a polite greeting, looked at Tim with actual fondness in her eyes, patted him on the cheeks, and eyed Keith with interest. The beginning of an irritated glower was forming on Keith’s face when the woman said something unexpected.

“You’ve really come out of your shell, Timmy,” she said, referring to Tim and Keith’s obvious closeness, “isn’t that the nicest thing?”

Her words prompted a flush to settle on Tim’s cheeks and a jumble of words out of the boy’s mouth, something along the lines of _no no I’m he’s yeah we’re good we’re great mrs mckinney please excuse us have a nice evening!_

This Mrs. McKinney seemed to know all about the word vomit thing, because she only raised an eyebrow and sent the boys along with a laugh. When they were out of Mrs. McKinney’s line of sight, Tim was still sporting that blush, and Keith found it rather endearing that for all his attitude and sarcastic streak, Tim still displayed a particular brand of innocence. It was so far removed from his usual sharpness that it brought a smile on Keith’s lips.

The thing, though, was that there was something lurking beneath the layer of bashfulness, something that Keith had observed but hadn’t addressed. His newest comrade was competence, potential, and diligence compacted in a small, feisty package. Thus, Keith found it mind-boggling that Tim was so _bad_ at taking compliments. He was so awkward while on the receiving end of displays of appreciation, almost like he wasn’t sure what to do with them, or if he deserved them at all.

Keith didn’t know what or who affected Tim’s self-esteem, but knew better than to press it.

In the span of two months, they had developed a solid relationship, mainly bonding over the shitty circumstances surrounding their secondary gender (including all of the implications that came with it) and their outright refusal to stop fighting. He appreciated Tim as a comrade, a friend, and someone he could genuinely empathize with.

But Keith also knew all about secrets and the necessity (burden) of keeping them, so he swallowed his curiosity and did the one thing he was good at; to keep fighting beside him.

At that moment, Tim swiveled to face him and gave Keith his signature toothy grin, eyes gleaming all the while. It made something in Keith react, something visceral, brought forth by mere memories—promises of thrill and adrenaline and bittersweet revenge, spilling from seemingly innocent mouth as Tim laid out his plan in linear precision.

“Ready, lion boy?” Was the challenge.

And really, what was Keith supposed to say to that?

He smirked, and settled for, “Take flight, bird boy.”

[They weren’t sure where the nicknames came from. Maybe it was from that time Tim said that Keith’s mullet reminded him of a lion’s mane (“What the fuck, Tim, it doesn’t even look _remotely_ —”) or that time Tim first sang in front of Keith and his high notes reminded Keith of twittering birds in the morning (“I do _not_ sound like—”)

They weren’t sure _why_ , but they kind of stuck because. It just seemed fitting.]

***

Keith was making sure that all the auxiliary cords were jacked into all the right sockets when he heard footsteps falling behind him. He tensed for a split second, hackles rising because it would _suck_ to get caught now.

“Getting busy?” He recognized the teasing lilt in Tim’s voice, and relaxed instantly.

“Jackass,” he muttered as he stood, and had to do a double take because holy _fuck_ , Tim really was going all out with his wardrobe choice for today. Or maybe calling it change of wardrobe was inaccurate because Tim was still in the same suit, but he got rid of his white dress shirt and undershirt, leaving him bare under the suit jacket. The thing circling his neck was no longer a patterned tie, but a lace choker.

The stark blackness of the accessory brought attention to the span of Tim’s swan neck, the lace ending just above the dip of Tim’s collarbone, and—

Is that _glitter_?

Keith didn’t realize that he was saying that last part out loud because there was mirth in Tim’s voice when he affirmed that, “yes, Keith, it’s glitter. Want some?”

Tim held up a small pot of glitter for Keith and the other boy eyed it in suspicion. “Is it gonna itch?”

Tim pursed his lips and traced a finger along his own breastbone. Keith almost choked because Tim’s pink nipples were catching the light and reflecting it right back courtesy of the glitter, and that made a surreal sight. Hot surreal, though, so it was fine. Probably.

“Not really. Steph let me borrow the expensive stuff, so,” he waved the product in front of Keith, “do you want it or not?”

Keith took the small jar and prayed that the stuff was easy to take off because as pretty as they were, getting glitter stuck on his skin seemed uncomfortable. While he was applying the micro glitter to his exposed collarbone, he caught Tim following the movement.

Keith bit back a smirk because he knew how he looked. In contrast to Tim, Keith discarded his suit jacket and kept everything underneath it. He unbuttoned the first three buttons of his dress shirt and rolled the sleeves to his elbows, resulting in a more casual look.

The show stealer, though, was the leather pants. Tim had seen him wearing tight pants, but these particular pair—his pride and joy, his _baby_ —looked almost painted on, accentuating the dips and curves of muscled legs. He completed the effect with four-inch ankle boots because yes, he knew _exactly_ what his selling point was.

 “You’re staring.”

Tim didn’t even look sheepish. “Nope. Technically, I’m holding in my saliva because holy mackerel, Keith, your _thighs_.”

That made Keith bark out a laugh. “So I’ve been told. Don’t get any ideas, though, ‘cause the only way a bastard could cop a feel of them is when I have their necks in a triangle chokehold.”

“Savage,” Tim whistled, “can I get in line?”

“Only if you promise to write ‘Death by Keith Kogane’s Godly Thighs’ on your tomb.”

“Duly noted.”

As Keith passed the glitter back to Tim, a thought occurred to him.

“Andrej?” He asked, and Tim narrowed his eyes at Keith.

“Who do you think I am? Taken care of, of course,” the shorter boy scoffed, “the band can’t perform tonight ‘cause they’re all having acute cases of stomachache,” Tim shook his head in mock irony, “must be all that beer in the evening.”

Keith frowned, slightly wary over the fact that Tim had managed to gain the goon’s trust so easily. The other Omega had explained that odds were already stacked against those dummies, because Tim had the element of surprise. In their Academy, Tim Drake wasn’t known as the type of Omega to flaunt and flirt. Which begged the question.

“They didn’t do anything,” Keith demanded, fingers hovering on Tim’s elbow, “did they.”

It seemed that he didn’t do a good job at hiding the sharp edge of his voice, because Tim did the purring thing—the damned sound was Keith’s undoing because it always did the job of soothing his frayed instincts—and encouraged Keith to take a deep breath.

“It’s okay, Keith,” Tim assured, “I only had to bat my eyelashes, play the ‘lonely little Omega who’s so eager to please’ card, and they drank the punch I brought without question. They only got as far as groping my hips when the drug hit hard.”

Keith took that much needed lungful of air and exhaled it, relieved. He wondered why he was far more elated by the fact that Tim wasn’t forced to subject to disgusting acts that he didn’t want to do than the idea of his asshat ex having pooping problems for at least three days straight. Well. By the looks of it, this weird little Omega had successfully wormed his way into Keith’s life and was now settling comfortably on a groove he had made for himself, all blue eyes and toothy grin.

It didn’t bother Keith as much as he had initially expected.

“Okay,” Keith said, picking up his guitar, “let’s go, then.”

Tim grinned and darted toward the stage. Keith didn’t miss the twinkle of determination in his eyes as he followed suit.

***

“Test, test, um,” Tim began, “good evening, guys.”

Keith rolled his eyes at Tim’s introduction as he plugged in his guitar because, _lame_. He was secretly thankful that he was spared the duty of making the speech, though, so he busied himself with what he had in his hands.

“Sooo the original band, Andrej and co., are having problems with,” he heard Tim made a humming noise, “...explosive digestive system, so they asked his boyfriend—and  me!—to fill in for them.”

Keith knew that he was being addressed, so he flicked his eyes toward the audience and waved. It was the most miniscule of waves, though, because he had the cool and indifferent image to uphold.

“And Keith readily agreed! Isn’t he the nicest,” Tim cooed, and Keith bristled, flipping him the bird for his efforts. So much for that cool.

The little bastard gasped, all exaggerated and scandalized, making the audience laugh. Keith concluded he hated them all.

“He’s so lovely, folks, I’m melting,” Tim said again, and Keith was .05 seconds from throwing his Fender right on Tim’s pretty teeth. “Anyways! We’re gonna play this little number that we borrowed from Mr. Puth because, well.”

The audience actually indulged Tim when he made a pause, purposefully building the suspense. Keith almost shook his head, amused at the way Tim had gotten the audience wrapped around his fingers already.

“We all need an excuse to grind against each other, don’t we?”

That was Keith’s cue to play the opening notes and he followed it. As his fingers started to move along the chords—all muscle memory now, with how much they had practiced—he didn’t miss how some of the audience were eyeing Tim with apparent hunger. Fucking Alphas couldn’t keep it in their pants, after all.

He smirked and thought to himself, _wait ‘till he opens his mouth_.

 _You’ve been runnin’ ‘round, runnin’ ‘round, runnin’ ‘round throwin’ that dirt all on my name_  
_‘Cause you knew that I, knew that I, knew that I’d call you up_  
_You’ve been going ‘round, going ‘round, going ‘round every party in LA_  
_‘Cause you knew that I, knew that I, knew that I’d be at one, oh_

The party goers actually cheered when Tim started singing, most of them wearing an expression of pleasant surprise. Keith could relate, because Tim was that _good_.

Tim’s voice was clear and high-toned, almost pure in quality with a little bit of nasally undertone that added to the charm. It might not have that hoarseness that people seemed to find sexy in singers these days, but Tim, the infuriating little shit, knew how to use his voice.

 _I know that dress is karma, perfume regret_  
_You got me thinking ‘bout when you were mine, oh_  
_And now I’m all up on ya, what you expect?_  
_But you’re not coming home with me tonight_

He had perfect control of his notes; on lower notes, which weren’t his strong suit, he made sure to adjust his diaphragm, adding strength to the words he was singing. In case of high notes, he knew when to use falsetto (whenever he wanted to pronounce the notes clearly) and when to strain his vocal chords a little, making the breath left his lungs in tiny increments with the effort.

And that airiness, that hint of breathlessness, was Tim’s particular brand of sexy. The first time Keith had heard it, he wasn’t sure if he was listening to angels or sirens. Tim could be both.

Singing was also all about the dynamic of the song, and with the amount of control Tim had over the notes and his impeccable technique, he checked that box easily.

 _You just want attention_  
_You don’t want my heart_  
_Maybe you just hate the thought of me with someone new_  
_Yeah, you just want attention_  
_I knew from the start_  
_You’re just making sure I’m never gettin’ over you, oh_

The cherry on top was, he was also skilled enough to move around without disturbing his singing. Tim made the stage his territory; moving his hips, his hands, and his fingers with purpose, complementing the music. He moved without restraint, letting everyone know just how _lost_ he was in the song he was performing.

He didn’t forget the audience, though, even as he was busy touching himself. (“Obscene,” Keith had commented with a sharp smile when Tim had demonstrated his stage persona. The comment had earned him a boisterous laugh and a peace sign, which reminded him that this boy was still a dork at heart.) Tim kept eye contact with the mass of people beneath him as he ran deft fingers on collared neck, glittered chest and tapered waist, his touches playful and teasing at the same time. He made sure to pay extra attention to where the Alphas were congregated, winking as he flipped open his jacket to bare pale skin and pert nipples, only to leave them hanging with a swivel of hips. His eyes were laughing all the while, alive and magnetic.

Maybe it was the glimmer in Tim’s eyes that lent him courage, because it suddenly hit Keith that he wanted _in_ on the show, goddamit, they both worked hard to get this opportunity.

With that resolve in mind, he strolled to where Tim was—already starting the second verse—and bit the other Omega’s ear, never once missing a rhythm on his guitar. If Tim was not as good as he was, he would have stuttered, but the only sign of surprise Tim displayed was the widening of blue eyes.

And then, _show time_.

They didn’t exactly put it in the plan, but it was with ease that they settled into this particular brand of stage dynamic—one that they had just invented. One that involved Tim practically humping against Keith’s leg while singing _And now I’m all up on ya, what you expect?_ right into the guitarist’s ear.

Keith couldn’t be liberal with his hands, so he settled to reciprocate by using his mouth, landing another bite on Tim’s neck as he sang _with me tonight_. He had to give props to Tim, though, because he placed that bite—strategically, of course—right above Tim’s scent gland and the other boy didn’t even falter in his singing. Instead, Tim left his side while maintaining eye contact, pointing one slender finger at Keith as he mouthed _you just hate the thought of me with someone new._

Keith couldn’t hold in his laugh, so he didn’t.

The last time he let out that kind of laugh was when he took Shiro into one of the flight simulators, purposefully making it a bumpy ride only to listen to Shiro’s panicked yells of _Keith I know we won’t die because this isn’t real but I can puke all over you you know and my puke will be very much real do you want me to do it on your hair because I definitely ca_ — _ohshitfuckinggod bank left!_

He smiled at the memory, and when he lifted his head, he caught Tim beaming at him before he turned back to their audience. The audience who was practically hysterical at this point, to Keith’s amusement. Only thirty minutes ago, he and Tim were getting stink eyes for _holding hands_ , and now this? Keith almost scoffed, because maybe indecency could be excused while wearing the face of entertainment as its guise.

Well. Enjoy while you still can, he thought.

***

Keith was so beautiful.

Tim knew, was super-duper aware that Keith was a whole different level in the looks department. The only downside was, he mainly used that good looks to make expressions that ranged from bored to displeased to angry. He didn’t smile that often, let alone laugh, so when he did, it was like oases rained down on you.

For a split second there, Tim caught a tone of nostalgia in his smile. He was almost certain that whatever the other Omega was thinking about, it had something to do with _this Shiro character_ , as Tim dubbed it in his head. The name was still shrouded in a cloud of mystery, but Keith had let it slip often enough that Tim was able to make note of the person’s significance to Keith.

If felt unexpectedly good to know that for all his short temper and unfriendly disposition and apparent abhorrence to Alphas, Keith still had someone who was important for him. Someone who pulled smiles and laughter out of him by sheer force of memories alone.

 _Not everyone has to be jaded little bastards like yourself, Tim,_ he heard a voice berate in his head.

Well. This jaded little bastard was going to bring a house down right after bringing it up so _high_ , so score one for jaded little bastards.

Tim reached into his pocket to press a button, one that was connected to the automatic air fresheners that was located on various points of the main hall. When the little command button in his pocket was pushed, the air fresheners would simultaneously release a transparent, odorless gas that was the product of Tim and Pamela Isley’s combined minds.

It was an invisible agent, working its way into the human body via the respiratory system to tamper with the main organ which job was to secrete hormones; the scent gland. In most cases, the gland began activating to discharge hormones and pheromones once the person reached puberty, which would result in the defining of said person’s secondary gender.

The frequency and amount of said discharge depended on some factors, and was believed to be tied to how a person treated and reacted to their instincts. When a person succumbed to the call of their secondary gender’s instinct, the gland would secrete considerable amount of hormone and pheromone. This change would be palpable to the people around said person, especially when the one affected was one of the two gender extremities; Alphas and Omegas.

Alphas in Ruts and Omegas in Heats produced hormones in large amount, and the gland worked the hardest whenever the cycle reached its peak. Their physical condition would also be significantly altered, even though in two differing extremes; Alphas would get stronger and more aggressive, while Omegas would get weaker and more submissive.

Fucking biology, Tim cursed.

The gas that Tim and Pamela Isley had created would activate a type of muscle relaxant—extracted from one of Isley’s exotic plants—when an Alpha reached a certain level of hormone secretion. A level that was usually tied with said Alpha’s desire to put Omegas on their knees and use them to do their biddings.

Tim watched it unfold slowly; how confusion broke out on different points of the segregation, all of them signaled by Alphas falling onto their asses. The Betas and Omegas surrounding these Alphas wore bewildered expressions on their faces, and some tried to help them up. Which was kind of futile because those Alphas’ legs were practically jelly at this point.

Nevertheless, what caught his eyes was the fact that the reaction wasn’t universal, that each Alpha was affected in their own way. He had predicted this possibility—there was no way different Alphas would secrete the same amount of hormones, they all reacted differently, anyways—but seeing it up close was...fascinating.

From what Tim could see, he could divide them into at least three groups: one, the ones who were affected, but not to the point of crumbling down. These types were still on their feet, but seemed to be weak, some opting to find a seat or a place to lean on. The second group consisted of the ones who weren’t able to stand anymore, but was still able to function on human level. Their legs might be jello, but they were also still running their mouths, demanding to know what had happened in loud, Alpha barks. The third group was the most pitiful. These Alphas had lost the use of their legs—temporarily, of course, Tim wasn’t a monster—and also the higher function of their brains. They were reduced into sub-vocal noises (growls and snarls) and animalistic gestures. Even though their bodies were clearly unable to move the way they desired, they were still persistent in their efforts to catch, subdue, and claim the Omegas that had stimulated their instincts in the first place. Case in point: Tim and Keith.

“Wow, some of them are actually trying to crawl up here, Keith,” Tim’s expression twisted into something resembling sympathy, “I kinda feel bad.”

Keith was still playing his damned guitar, toying with different chords as he looked down in absolute distaste. “We’ve blocked all access to the stage, right.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Then we’re fine.”

After that, Keith noticed an Alpha (a poor bastard from group three, Tim winced) who got too close to the edge of the stage and managed to touch Keith’s ankle boot. The expression on Keith’s face was ruthless when he shoved him with said boot, not even bothering to be gentle.

Tim whistled, “Wanna work that frustration somewhere else, lion boy?”

Keith sent him a grin, dagger sharp, “Only if you’re willing to help out.”

Oh. If that was how Keith wanted to play, then Tim could play along. If this somehow got too far, they could always blame it on stage high, he reasoned.

It only took three strides for Tim to breach Keith’s personal bubble, and the sound of electric guitar was abruptly cut off when Tim wrestled him to press their bodies together. He circled his arms around Keith’s neck and brought their foreheads together. A hysterical part of his brain gave little notifications of _this is the closest you’ve ever been ohmigod let go now before he bodyslams you holyfuck his eyes are really pretty._ Tim usually ignored it when his brain got unnecessarily loud, so he did just that.

Keith, thankfully, didn’t shove him away. He pulled Tim in by his waist and actually sighed in contentment when Tim rubbed their noses together. Their crotches were still separated by Keith’s electric guitar and the sharp chords dug into Tim’s waist, but he didn’t care. All he could focus on was Keith and how he was so uncharacteristically receptive. Tim caught a sniff of his scent and smelled _happy content satisfied_ , adding a whole new definition to Tim’s own elation.

“Hey,” he whispered, breath warm on Keith’s lips, “so how does it feel to be on top, for once?”

Keith opened his eyes and knocked their noggins together, playful. “Stop the innuendos, you little shit. You know it feels good, and not even in the...sexual way.”

Tim noticed that moment of hesitation, and honestly, he could empathize. Sometimes, giving into sexual desires felt like a weakness for Omegas; a sentiment born from years of oppression and forced sexual gratification, committed by people who were supposed to protect the weakest of the three secondary genders. And wasn’t that the recurring theme? Omegas were _weak_.

They all said Omegas were too weak and incompetent, unfitting to do certain things in the society. These bigots held on to their discriminative beliefs, so much so that they had actually made laws to legally restrict Omegas and their right to develop as a person.

As depressing as the thought was, Tim didn’t let it get to him at this moment. At the present, standing on the stage with Keith’s warmth and scent enveloping him, Tim felt anything but weak. He felt satisfied that the gas had done the job so spectacularly. He felt euphoric that their little stage intervention turned out to be such a success, and people had actually enjoyed their performance before all hell broke loose. He felt content to stand on top of it all with Keith.

Most importantly, he felt powerful. It was intoxicating, to be able to turn the tables on the ones who had harassed and discriminated him for the last four years. Some might argue that both of them were cruel, to feel satisfaction in the face of suffering (those goons were still trying to claw their way onto the stage, oh my God, it was like watching a bad zombie flick), but well. They had never claimed to be decent people, anyways.

Tim basked in the moment, absorbing it all with every fiber of his being.

“You... Fucking Omegas! You’re behind this, aren’t you!? Undo this immediately!”

Tim was going to smack a bitch because _really_? They couldn’t let them have _ten seconds_ to bask in sweet victory? Why were Alphas such bitter bastards?

He begrudgingly untangled himself from Keith’s arms and turned to face the party pooper. The pooper in question was indeed Karl Ranck, a textbook whiteboy Alpha who had _whitebread_ and _privilege_ written all over his garish varsity jacket.

 “Yeah, actually,” he heard the crowd break in shouts and scandalized gasps, but kept his focus on Karl, “whatchu gonna do about it?”

Karl’s face was redder than a boiled lobster’s, and someone should give him medical attention before the poor boy exploded.

“You...insurgents! Rebels! How dare you commit such insolence? We’re your superiors!”

Wow, Tim wasn’t aware that Karl had such extensive vocabulary. Props to the boy, because Tim was actually tempted to give him a genuine standing ovation.

“Insolence?” Tim laughed, “I have to disagree with you, Karl, because this isn’t Omega Insurgency or anything like that. Even though you gotta admit, that’d make a really good movie title.”

Someone cuffed him on the head, and he turned his head to see Keith rolling his eyes. He had a fond smile on his face, though, so Tim grinned and continued.

“This,” Tim gestured to the congregation, “is overdue payment.”

The silence that followed was more than a little chilling. Tim had to give himself a pat on the back for being so good at making shit up on the spot.

“Alphas get the longer end of the stick, y’know, ‘cause whenever big ol’ A decides to make an appearance, you all get two times stronger and faster. Which. Turns you into bigger douches more often than not,” Tim shrugged when he was met with words of protest, “most of you, anyways, jeez, calm your pants. You’re a rockin’ Alpha, Cassie, kudos to you.”

Tim directed his last sentence to a blond, regal looking Alpha who was standing proud in her Greek themed backless dress, clearly unaffected by the gas. Said Alpha beamed up at Tim and lifted her red cup in a mock toast, all the while ignoring Karl’s groveling form, which was less than a foot to where she was standing. It was good to know that a strong, sensible Alpha was on his team, so Tim threw her a salute.

“So I made the gas with this idea in mind; what if we give them a taste of what Omegas feel? Seeing as, y’know, Omegas have been servicing Alphas since God knows when and it’s high time to get that favor repaid, don’t you agree? So how does it feel, Karl, to feel what we feel? Every time an Omega succumbs to their baser instincts—whether by force or willingly—this is what we experience,” Tim gritted his teeth, “what you’re feeling right now, that is what we have to subject to every single time, so soak it in. That’s called powerlessness.”

Tim had his hands balled to the point of almost drawing blood, and no matter how he tried to unclench his fists, his muscles felt locked into place. All of a sudden, he felt slender fingers tracing soothing patterns on his knuckles, hot breath brushing his nape, and Keith’s rumbling purr along his spine. The other Omega was standing behind him, half draped on Tim’s back and doing his best to mollify Tim’s frustration with gentle gestures. He was a little awkward about it—his caresses were stinted, and there was a hint of hesitation in his purrs—as though he wasn’t sure about how he was supposed to fulfill his role as an Omega.

That...was bound to happen when someone had spent his whole life defying their inner O. Tim understood.

If this was any other occasion, Tim would have broken down in tears because this was Keith accepting his Omega instincts. Keith, who was as abject to the idea of submitting to his inner Omega as Tim was. But here he was, giving up his stubborn belief to soothe Tim’s frayed instincts and raw anger.

“Keith,” he muttered, turning his head to nuzzle into Keith’s neck, and it was sort of funny because he wasn’t really sure who was comforting who, but it was fine. They were fine. “Thanks, Keith. I’m fine. We’re good,” he whispered, and felt Keith’s chest deflate as he sighed in relief.

Tim was aware that this was supposed to be a private moment, that they were showing a vulnerable display when they needed to keep up a tough front, but he also didn’t really care. _This isn’t weakness,_ he thought, _Let them see. Let them see for themselves that we don’t need them. That we’re strong enough without them._

As if he could read Tim’s mind, Keith let out a shaky chuckle before returning the favor. Tim broke into ticklish giggles when the sharp point of Keith’s nose dug into his neck. Surprisingly (or not), cooing and awwing noises began echoing throughout the audience and, wow. By the looks of it, this moment was going to be passed down for _generations_ in the Academy.

But Karl wasn’t finished, apparently.

“Fuck you, Tim Drake,” he shouted, “you were supposed to kneel for me ever since we met in first year. This never would have happened if someone has staked a claim on you.”

Tim broke into hysteric laughter, one half of himself pitying the Alpha while the other half thoroughly entertained by the notion. Just how privileged was this guy to be _that_ disillusioned?

“From my point of view, Karl, _you’re_ the one kneeling. Isn’t that ironic?”

Keith joined his bout of laughter and peered backstage, where shouts of _open the door!_ could be heard. He walked toward the edge of the stage and addressed their audience—the ones who were looking at them with something akin to hero worship. It was saying a lot about jerk Alphas’ reputation in the Academy, and it made Keith’s face break into a mischievous grin.

“Looks like we’ve got about five minutes until security got here. Up for another number?”

Somewhere amidst the crowd a voice yelled, “Go Keith! Go Timbo!” And Tim would recognize Pamela Isley’s voice anywhere.

So he gave Keith a thumb’s up and shouted, “Let’s do Anna!”

Keith took the cue for what it was and began playing the first chords of Anna-Molly. With a wink at the audience, Tim grabbed the mic stand and began singing.

It filled him with something akin to ecstasy when the crowd began roaring, almost drowning out the first words of the lyrics. He couldn’t bring himself to care, though, so he let himself drown in the sound of Keith’s guitar and the call from deep within his own body, telling him to _sing dance be free have some fucking fun._

For the sake of being dramatic, he opened his arms and made beckoning gestures as the words _it’s time we met and made a mess_ flowed out of his mouth. This was indeed the best night of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [yodels from within my grave] wassup demon it's me yer pal
> 
> ...hi hello I know I'm a week late that's like more than 100 hours right holy shit I'm gomen,, but also this monster reached 12k words I literally have no idea how it happened. A little precaution: if u wanna treat this story as a fun little oneshot then I suggest to stop reading by the time u reach chapter 2. I'm writing 2 additional chapters (the total's gonna be at about 20k words holy moly) to add more plot and incorporate a little angst so,, if u don't want that it's ok to stop reading when u reach the end of this chapter :""))
> 
> Now for some things related to the story:  
> 1\. This is a work of fiction so u are free to unleash ur imagination on Tim n Keith's stage persona. Personally, my muse on Tim's is The NBHD's Jesse Rutherford bc he's lovely n the lil moves he makes when he's performing are cute n sexy at the same time :3 he cute I lov him,, and who am I kidding Jesse's always been my aesthetic for punk!Tim. I also imagine Tim having his singing voice for some reason lol idk why :^) feel free to imagine someone else tho it's just my preference! ;)
> 
> 2\. I don't hate Karl sobs I'm still crying bc in the comic he's such a misguided child with a shitty dad and he doesn't deserve that fate tbh :(( 
> 
> ANyways I hope u enjoyed the continuation of this Wild(tm) concept :""))


	3. Three: The Price

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Small comforts, Tim thought to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BOOYAH I AINT DEAD!! No but srsly late update is late so I'll grace yall w/ a double update that finally marks the end of this self indulgent lil AU :"")) Not so little tho bc holy smokes 24k words...I still cannot beliebe.
> 
> Anyways thank u for those who stick around sobs I love yall n I hope u enjoy the wlw pairings that I sneak in here bc gotta love DC ladies<3
> 
> Enjoy babes! :DD

“Police! Stop what you’re doing right now and put your hands in the air!”

Tim turned toward the source of the voice, but not before finishing the last note with flourish. He dropped his mic and put his hands in the air, signaling Keith to do the same because holy shit, security actually called the cops for back up and Tim and Keith were at _gun point_.

It was a stun gun, but still. Mind blown. Despite the disadvantageous situation, Tim whispered a surreptitious _dude, we’re hot shit,_ that made Keith almost chuff out a laugh.

A second look at the leading officer, and Tim’s eidetic memory started feeding him information regarding _Renee Montoya; Alpha, star student at the police academy, current rank: Lieutenant, relationship status: unknown, but there were rumors of her being involved with another Alpha. Once led an ambush to an Omega prostitution ring, and was still involved in the rehabilitation and recuperation efforts for the victims._ In all the five seconds that Tim had to compute the information, it also occurred to him that they had actually sent in one of the best officers on the force—one with an impressive track record of solving cases involving Omegas. Montoya was also known for her no nonsense attitude while dealing with discrimination, and wouldn’t hesitate to stand up and side with Omegas who had received unlawful and/or unfair treatment.

She was a force to behold and an Alpha who held true to her duty as a protector.

That made Tim feel inexplicably _good_ , so he obeyed Montoya’s request to step off the stage and made his way toward her. If he had a little skip in his step as he did so, no one commented on it.

Montoya was even more impressive up close. Tim appreciated the beauty in her strong jawline, almond shaped eyes, and chocolate skin. She was broad-shouldered and moderately muscled, lean and strong at the same time. Tim usually felt weary around Alphas, but her scent was pleasant—exuding an air of perseverance that was more comforting than commanding—so he didn’t hesitate to come within close proximity of her.

“Officer,” he said, offering his wrists in front of Montoya, wearing a fanged grin all the while.

The gesture earned him an amused smirk, and Montoya put her gun back inside of its holster. She continued to stare at Tim, most likely sizing him up. Her stance was relaxed, but Tim didn’t doubt that if he made any sudden movement, she’d have him in a rear wrist lock in .5 seconds.

“Misters Drake and Kogane,” she began after a whole minute of terse silence, “you’re coming with us.”

It was simple enough, and Tim shrugged, ready to cooperate. One glance at Keith’s direction told Tim that the other Omega was perplexed by the situation, but didn’t make any attempt to fight or flee. That was good, because Tim hadn’t worked on how they were supposed to escape from the freaking _police_ , so their best bet for now was to cooperate and improvise along the way.

Montoya brushed off her subordinates’ attempts at cuffing Tim and Keith with a wave of her hand. Instead, she slotted herself in between the two Omegas and spoke in a bemused voice.

“Looks like you’re the stars of the night,” she said, offering her right arm to Tim and her left to Keith, “I’ll be honored to be your escort.”

In response to that, Tim made a contemplating noise while Keith let out an incredulous laugh. They exchanged glances behind Montoya’s back and after a few beats, nodded to each other.

“Well,” Keith drawled, taking Montoya’s offered arm, “beats the handcuffs.”

With a loud, melodious laugh, Montoya made good of her promise and escorted them both to the police car just outside of the building.

***

They made them wait in a small room with a desk, some chairs, and crappy lighting. An interrogation room was Tim’s best guess, but the presence of two water bottles set on the table didn’t add up to that conclusion. They were supposed to make suspects antsy and anxious, not offer hospitable service.

“You think it’s safe?” Keith gestured toward the bottles, voicing Tim’s worry.

“No,” Tim asserted, opting to stay alert, “I do trust Officer Montoya, but I can’t say the same about her coworkers. There might be something in there.”

Keith arched an eyebrow. “Spoken like a true poison master.”

Tim snorted at that. “I only put laxatives inside of your boyfriend’s drink, Keith, nothing masterful about that.”

“It did the job.”

Keith’s remark made them inhale simultaneously, a reminder of the gravity of the situation. They were sitting in an interrogation room at the police station thanks to the little stunt that they had managed to pull.

“Holy shit, we really did it,” was whispered from slightly trembling lips. He raised his head to look at Tim, eyes shining with elation, surprise, and a hint of anxiety because what were they going to do from this point?

Tim hadn’t predicted police involvement. The gas had caused unprecedented reaction, because Tim sure as hell didn’t predict that some Alphas would sink so deep into their inner As, going sub-vocal and showing signs of early onset Ruts. Or did it depend on the intensity of their reactions to Tim and Keith? He wasn’t really looking at members of group three (because yikes, to show such strong symptoms, those Alphas had to be borderline obsessive in their want, and fuck if that didn’t creep the fuck out of Tim), but now he realized that it might be a mistake, because now he wouldn’t be able to know which ones they needed to watch out for, and Keith might get in danger, and oh shoot, how could he forget that they were in the police station? Gotta hurry and make escape plans—

“Tim, stop thinking.”

The command was so abrupt and unexpected that Tim reflexively halted his train of thought. He lifted his head and saw Keith looking at him with exasperation and barely concealed amusement.

“You’re a worrywart so I’ll just make it simple,” he said, “I don’t regret it. Any of it. And if you think for a second that I’m not ready to deal with the aftermath, I’m gonna ruin that perfect suit of yours. Too bad, ‘cause that’s the only piece of decent clothing you own, isn’t it?”

Eyes blown wide, Tim took Keith in; the strength in his squared shoulders, the veins running down his arms, his slender, muscular legs, his huge, fiery eyes, and had to laugh as the realization hit him. He didn’t have anything to worry about. This was Keith, an Omega, a comrade, a _friend,_ who was defined by his loyalty, fearlessness, brilliance, and fierce protectiveness. Tim might be the man with the plan, but he had Keith, who was able to trust his fighting instincts and make impulsive decisions—a valuable quality, especially in situations where they weren’t granted the time to think of strategies.

He had the strongest ally by his side.

A full blown grin almost split Tim’s face in half. “Yeah, man, you’re right. We’re in this together, right?”

With that, Tim offered his fist for Keith to bump, and the other boy rolled his eyes before humoring him. They settled into companionable silence; one that was easy to fall into, ever since their first meeting on the rooftop.

The two of them sat down, and waited.

Ten minutes later, there was a rap on the door. Without waiting for an answer, Officer Montoya walked in, carrying a clipboard and two bottles of water in her hands. She proceeded to grab the ones sitting on the table and threw them into the trash bin.

“Good call,” she said, “those weren’t provided by me or my team, so who knows what’s in there.”

“Never hurt to be careful, Officer,” Tim commented, his tone cheeky.

She only smirked at him in reply, and took her seat.

“Something tells me that you’re curious about the body count,” Montoya began, flipping through her files, “twenty seven Alphas had to be sedated and wheeled to the hospital because they’re showing symptoms of early onset Ruts, forty five receiving the same treatment minus the sedatives because they were still lucid enough to function.” She curled her lips in disgust at that. “Kinda wish some of them were sedated, though.”

Tim and Keith exchanged glances, and simultaneously winced in sympathy. Tim would bet his Firefly 15th Anniversary Edition Bluray Set that Montoya was talking about the ones who thought that their pride was hurt and their authority was challenged by filthy Omegas. Who knew what kind of demands (dumbassery) that Montoya had to listen to? He didn’t blame her; he’d want to sedate them, too.

“Sorry, Officer,” Tim murmured, genuinely remorseful, “we’re ready to take full responsibility and deal with the repercussions. That’s why we’re here. Wish we could’ve helped with the cleanup, though, ‘cause it must’ve been a bitch.”

Montoya heaved a sigh at that, putting down her clipboard and stretched before leaning forward, fixing her gaze on Tim. “Language, Kid, and it’s okay. It’s all part of the job description.”

Keith spoke up, arms crossed in front of his chest. “Wow, you’re such a good cop, lady. Too good, in fact, that I’m actually dreading the bad cop’s arrival. Are they gonna bust in here any minute? Complete with the torture devices?”

The quip wrenched a surprised laugh out of Montoya and Tim, and the former composed herself enough to say, “‘fraid it’s just me, Kid, don’t be too disappointed. Also, a word of advice: don’t pick up a habit of snarking police officers ‘cause most of us have inflated egos.”

All of them broke into low chuckles. Montoya made sure to offer the bottles of water to Tim and Keith and the boys complied, knowing that it was just a transition into the more serious talk.

“Now,” she said after the bottles were emptied, the shift in her demeanor changing the atmosphere around them, “let’s get into the real business.”

Tim braced himself for the worst. It was known that Omegas wouldn’t be sent into regular jails, but it didn’t mean that the designated correctional facilities were better. Allegedly, the officers who run the facilities were downright nasty, taking utmost advantage of their position to punish Omegas who had been deemed ‘unbefitting to live among the people’ by the court.

Most Omegas who were sent in there came out physically and psychologically scarred, drawing in so far into themselves that the newly acquired freedom meant virtually nothing. That was when society would pass their own brand of judgement, labelling the broken Omegas as ‘useless’ and ‘only good for breeding.’

The image made Tim shudder, and some part of him wanted to grovel, beg for forgiveness, be a good Omega and submit, do anything and _everything_ for mercy, as long as he didn’t get sent into one of those correctional facilities. A bigger part of him (the rebel, the fighter, the one who _refused_ to give up) was almost eerily calm. Tim and Keith, as a unit, had done their part, had delivered the message, had created a _moment_ , one that had tipped the balance and would live on as long as people kept exchanging the story.

Omegas weren’t _weak_ , and if a fellow O should ever fall into that hole, give into that moment of weakness, Tim sincerely hoped that they would remember this night and find strength within themselves to climb up. There was no shame or regret in fighting, and if that fight resulted in getting thrown into a contained facility where bastard Alphas would be waiting for them, then so be it. If they wanted to break them, they could fucking _try_. Tim would never give in, and he was confident enough to say that Keith was on the same page with him.

Tim was too busy keeping his gaze forward, unflinchingly looking at Montoya and her files, that he almost missed the way she hummed, the sound filled with contemplation.

“Both of you have...very nice eyes,” Montoya commented, almost casual if not for the hard set of her brows, “a pair of fighters, huh? I shouldn’t like that, kiddo, but I really do,” she barked out a laugh, as though she couldn’t believe herself for relaying the sentiment to Tim and Keith. “Nice to know that you guys are indeed worth it.”

Tim and Keith were still knee deep in bafflement when she decided to continue.

“Okay, so here’s the thing. Assistant DA Dent immediately responded when I asked him to get into this case, and he was also quick to draw up a contract. One hundred hours of community service for each of you, and I suggest you get smart and take the offer without question.”

That sounded strange.

“Community service?” It was Keith who asked, incredulous, “that can’t be right. Aren’t we supposed to go to a correctional facility of some sort?”

At Keith’s remark, Montoya’s eyes turned hard. “Branden and his goons will never get the chance to lay their filthy paws on you. Not under my watch.”

Tim was stunned. He didn’t expect this development, so he charged on with the questions. “Listen, Officer Montoya, we really appreciate that and thank you very much, but a contract? I find it hard to believe that the DA won’t charge us, seeing as there are actual victims. Victims who are Alphas, Officer. You and I both know that they won’t be happy if we got off without proper adjudication process. Your department would be forced to deal with the ensuing outcries.”

He might not be that well versed in law, but he knew enough. The whole situation was too good to be true, and Tim knew that he was digging his own grave, but he couldn’t help it. He was naturally inquisitive, and it didn’t help that there was _something_ that nagged at the back of his mind. He didn’t know exactly what it was, but he knew that he needed to get the facts.

Montoya pinched the bridge of his nose, as if she was battling a massive headache, and promptly cursed in Spanish. “I knew you’re not gonna make this easy,” she inhaled once, preparing herself for whatever she was going to say.

“Listen, boys,” she began, “everything that happens in this room stays in this room. We’re not taking any recording of any sort, so make sure you listen carefully and please, do not make any rash decisions.”

The pause was suspenseful, and it hung in the air for a few painful seconds, until, “you’re being offered community service because as far as the law is concerned, you’re accessory.”

The silence that followed was broken in mere three seconds, as Tim hurried to say, “Don’t you mean Keith’s accessory? I’m the one who planned the whole thing, Officer, so I don’t understand—”

And then it hit Tim like a freight train. He fastened his eyes on Montoya and saw her looking back with calm, collected eyes. The implication of her words made him tremble in his seat, and his head was filled with white nose for a split second that he almost missed Keith’s indignant rebuttal of his remark.

“What the fuck, Tim, I’m in this as much as you are!” Keith barked, and turned to Montoya, “I’m not doing fucking community service if he’s gonna be sent to those correctional—”

“No,” Tim cut off, abrupt and shaky, “no, please, you can’t do that! She wasn’t supposed to get involved!”

Tim stood from his seat in one frantic movement, the force of it sending the chair clattering backwards. Keith was by his side in seconds, laying a careful hand on Tim’s shaking shoulder.

“Tim. Tim, calm down, man, what do you mean—”

“They’re putting this on Miss Isley.” Tim tried hard to keep his tone clipped, but the fear still seeped through.

Keith’s eyes went wide, but he was fast to recover. He kept his hand on Tim’s shoulder (a support, an anchor) and turned violet eyes on Montoya, his glare dagger sharp.

Tim knew that this would count as an act of insolence no matter what part the world they were in—two Omegas putting themselves on higher ground, staring down at an Alpha who was seated—but he couldn’t bother to give two fucks right now. All he knew was that he needed to turn the situation around, undo whatever damage that had potentially been done (so much, _so much_ could happen in the span of one hour, shit), and if all of that started with challenging the authority of an Alpha, then so be it.

However, Montoya didn’t seem fazed by the confrontation. She stared at the boys with steady eyes, enveloping the room with that unique scent that oozed of strength and perseverance. She was asserting control of the situation without even making a _move_ , and honestly, Tim hated it when he had to admit that there were some Alphas who actually knew how to use their aptitudes.

“Will you please calm down?” Montoya placated after a terse minute, “We’re here to have a discussion, and we can’t damn well do that if you make assumptions without knowing the facts.”

Tim bristled. “I know for a fact that you’re putting the blame on Pamela Isley and I don’t care what your motivation is, but you need to drop it. Right now. She’s not the mastermind. I am.”

“Don’t underestimate me, Drake,” Montoya growled out, her inner Alpha peeking through, “You think I don’t know that you’re the one pulling the strings? Let me be clear. I don’t give a rat’s ass if you don’t respect my status as an Alpha, but I’m gonna put you on the _grill_ if you dare disrespect my capabilities as a detective.”

Tim bit his lips at that, concentrating on the pain to distract himself from the call of his instincts. The Omega in him was groveling, telling him to apologize, submit, stop provoking Montoya, and _be_ _a good Omega for once in your life, please._

The last part hit too close to where old ghosts were buried (sounded too similar to his mother), so he shook his head and took a deep breath. He could still scent Montoya in the air around him, but beneath it, he also found _Keith,_ who was a confusing mix of aggression and pacification, an unmoving force that offered comradeship and encouragement. Tim focused on his friend’s scent, all familiar by now, and felt the tension leave his body. It was nice to know that at least, he had Keith by his side.

Montoya was still waiting for him to speak, and he appreciated her patience.

“Okay,” he breathed out, “Okay. Sorry about that. Let’s have that convo, then.”

He picked his fallen chair up and settled down on it, gesturing for Keith to do the same. The other Omega still had his guard up, but he took a seat and scooted closer to Tim. Tim received the silent message and sighed in contentment, reaching below the table to squeeze Keith’s knee, reassuring that for now, talking and listening were the best course of action.

He didn’t know (and honestly, didn’t care) if Montoya noticed the gesture, but she smiled softly at both of them.

“Thank you for cooperating,” she said, and suddenly, she was less Alpha and more professional investigator. “Now, boys, don’t freak out on me before you hear the whole story. The simple version is: the whole thing isn’t my call. It’s hers.”

Keith let out a surprised _what?!_ but Tim only smiled, all bitter and knowing.

“I kinda figured,” Tim murmured, “doesn’t mean I’m gonna sit on my ass and accept that. You haven’t done anything permanent, have you? Can you grant us an audience with her?”

Keith looked at Tim in disbelief, most likely baffled at how calm Tim was being. It was ironic because beneath that calm, a storm was brewing inside of him. He could already feel the signs of anxiety attack, something that often reared its ugly fangs when someone who mattered to him was in a bad position.

For the most part, Tim had been virtually useless, failing to do anything to help his significant others, but not this time. It wasn’t too late to fix this. And the only way he could pull that off was to utilize the sharpest tool in the shed; his brain.

“You’re a very smart boy, Tim. She actually warned me about you,” Montoya let out a little chuckle, “she also told me about that stubborn streak of yours, and that I would never be able to convince you that this would be the best course of action.”

Tim chuckled, irony tinting the sound. “She’s right, Officer. Sorry about that but my rep for being a pain if the butt isn’t just for show.”

“I figured. Which is why Pamela’s going to be the one to convince you.”

That pulled a surprised gasp out of Tim. “She’s here?”

Montoya only shook her head and pulled a tablet out of her jacket. She thumbed the thing for a moment, and then laid it out in front of Tim and Keith. The Omegas simultaneously leaned forward to get better view, and the video started playing.

It was Pamela—still dressed in her emerald green dress, flower weaves decorating her hair—and her best friend slash roommate slash significant other Dr. Harleen Quinzel, seated on a generic looking sofa that Tim recognized to belong in one of the Academy’s waiting rooms.

“Hiya, Timmy,” she waved at the camera, and Harleen followed with a _and Keef my boy!_ , complete with her trademark wink. “I’m sure Montoya has explained the general gist of it, so I’ll keep this short and sweet.”

Tim couldn’t believe his eyes. She was being so calm and casual, like it wasn’t her whole life hanging by a very thin thread. A thread that was weighed down by Tim and Keith, and would snap at any given moment. No, not if Tim could help it.

“Bottom line is, I’ve decided to beat your sneaky ass in your own game, make some moves ahead of you, and believe me. This version of ‘contingency’, as you would say it, is for the best.”

Tim had a hand on his chin. “That’s bull, Pam,” he muttered, dangerously low, as various plans began forming in his head. If he had to stoop that low, at least hacking this video from Montoya’s tablet would be a piece of cake.

As if she was responding to Tim’s train of thought, Pamela’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Renee, honey, do me a favor and delete this vid right after you show it to my beloved student, will you? This particular bird is infuriatingly hard to take down.”

A disembodied voice in the form of amused laughter and a muffled _will do, Pamela,_ could be heard, and Tim closed his eyes because that woman knew him too well.

“Don’t get all righteous and give yourself too much credit, sweetheart, because I’m not launching myself off a cliff in your place or whatever horrid mental image you’re imagining right now,” she continued, squaring her shoulders, “you know me. I wouldn’t do anything that’d put me on the dirt—figuratively speaking, of course. In fact, the occasion is perfect because Harl and I have been desperate to go somewhere warm for a vacation, and this opportunity is just _gold._ ”

The two women grinned at each other before Harleen turned to the camera, all crimson smile and pearly white teeth.

“Gonna take her to Rio, baby boy,” she flaunted, “best place to enjoy Mama Nature ‘n all of her glory. Best way to put butterflies in Pam’s stomach and flowers blooming in her heart.”

Pamela beamed at Harleen and they shared a chaste kiss that spoke of comfort, fondness, and years of mutual love and respect. On his best days, Tim would bask in their affection for each other, but this definitely wasn’t one of those.

Their display of happiness did nothing to calm his already frayed nerves, especially after the realization hit him. It was an easy deduction, and it made Tim’s heart ache, a repressed scream clawing at the bottom of his throat.

He turned to Montoya, and even though he could feel the remnants of anger that he displayed earlier, he couldn’t bring himself to reflect it on his voice. So it was with a tired, weathered down voice that he said, “They’re banishing her?”

Montoya looked surprised that Tim was able to come to that conclusion so quickly, but she only sighed and paused the video.

“Tim,” she began, her tone soft and careful, and Tim could only imagine just how pathetic he looked right now. “Do us a favor and watch ‘till the end. Please. Pamela still has a lot to say.”

When Tim didn’t immediately answer, Keith took over. “Officer, this is ridiculous,” he said, sharp, his hands gesturing to Montoya’s tablet and the paused recording. “They’re close, you know, Tim and Miss Isley. I don’t know her that well but I know that she genuinely cares about Tim and maybe...maybe that’s all this is about; she only wants what’s best for him. And if that’s true, just—” he stumbled, taking in a deep breath to calm himself, “can’t they meet each other?”

The desperation in Keith’s voice was mimicked on Tim’s expression, and Montoya made a pained face when the Omegas turned to her, _pleaded_ with her. As an Alpha, she was protective by nature, and seeing two Omegas in distress without doing anything to comfort them was akin to betraying her own instincts. Worse, it felt like betraying her _beliefs._

However, she was a strong Alpha, honed by training and experience. Tim saw the strain on her face—it was no easy feat to subdue her inner Alpha—but she eventually steadied herself, mastering her instincts.

“I’m afraid I can’t help you with that, Tim, Keith,” the admission came out of her mouth with clear, perfect diction, “the banishment order has been signed, and is now in effect. By now, she should be under tight surveillance and—”

Tim didn’t wait for her to finish the sentence. He was calm and fluid as he got up from the table and stalked his way to the door; his movement sleek, nothing wasted. He knew that being in a state of panic would do nothing to help him achieve his goal, so he kept a tight leash on his emotions and pushed forward

In a matter of seconds, his mind had come up with at least eight possible locations of Pamela’s whereabouts. He had to track her down, convince her that this was a bad idea, and then meet Assistant DA Dent to undo the banishment order.

If that didn’t work, well. Pamela might be the mind behind the chemical composition of the formula, but Tim was the one who transformed it into gas form, put it into the air fresheners, made the master command button, and last but not least, provoked the Alphas to react to the gas. Her contribution was strictly on intelligence level, and he was the one who did most of the groundwork. If for some godforsaken reason they still wanted to put the blame on her, Tim could always say he stole it from her.

He could pull off a very convincing act if need to.

And Keith... Keith wouldn’t like the idea (read: he’d break Tim’s nose if he put the plan into motion), but fortunately his friend’s current status was accessory, and Tim would do _anything_ to keep it that way.

When he had his hand on the handle, Montoya’s voice cut through the air.

“I won’t stop you if that’s your decision,” her tone carried none of the Alpha aggression nor the professional lilt she displayed earlier. She only sounded subdued, and Tim couldn’t decide whether or not that was a good thing. “But know this; once you walk out that door, I won’t be able to protect you. Sooner or later, you’d be brought back here, and her efforts would go to waste.”

Tim’s hand dug into the handle. “I didn’t ask her to do this.”

“We’ve established that earlier, Tim. This is her choice, and have you thought about what it implies?”

He turned around, fists clenched. “What _other_ implications? The only ones I can think of are the fact that she’s banned from her own fucking hometown for a crime she didn’t commit, losing her home and her job, not to mention people closest to her.” His eyes burned as an image of Selina’s face popped into his head. God, how could he face her if he didn’t stop this? “So I don’t care what’s going to happen to me. I’m gonna find her and put a stop to this nonsen—”

“Tim, that’s not the point!”

The outburst made Tim pause, perplexed. Montoya was cool and collected just a few seconds ago, but now the expression on her face was— Tim couldn’t really pin it down because it was a mesh of different emotions; frustration, impatience, and... Is that sadness? Tim failed to understand why she was _sad_ instead of _angry_ , because it was only logical that she should be fuming right now.

“This isn’t about the effects, Tim, it’s not about the consequences. I guess it’s easier to see it from that perspective, but have you thought about the whys?”

Tim faltered. Out of the corner of his vision, he saw Keith, looking as lost as he was. He swallowed, because the answer didn’t come in the form of successive deductions and conclusions like it usually did. “She— she’s my teacher and until I actually graduate I should still be supervised by an adult, right?” Shit, shit, why did he make that a question? “So she’s doing the sensible adult thing—which, in my opinion is blown way out of proportions—because she feels like it’s her duty as an adult—”

“I’m gonna break your face if you actually think it’s that fucking shallow, Tim.” Montoya growled out, the warning loud and clear.

Tim’s mouth snapped shut at that, and the tension in the room hit critical level because, yeah, there was that perfectly justified anger. Tim glanced at Keith, and even though the look on his face was still all kinds of _confused as hell,_ his body language was clear enough. The slightly crouched stance and sharp eyes were signs that Keith was ready to either fight or flight, depending on what the Alpha in the room (who was angry at the moment, so they had every reason to stay alert) decided to do.

However, Montoya didn’t let the rage consume her. Only by the skin of her teeth, Tim observed, because the square of her shoulders still bore all the tell tales of an Alpha who was ready to attack. Slowly, she began to uncoil, and her voice was worn down when she spoke.

“I told you that she warned me about you guys, right?” She took a deep breath, “she failed to mention your inability to understand basic human emotions because really, Tim? What you said? That’s just _rude._ And get your hand away from your pocket, Keith, I don’t know what’s in there but I’m sure we all don’t want to find out in the worst way.”

Her eyes pierced through Keith, who reflexively lifted his hands in a universal _nope, nothing to see here_ gesture and Tim had to give it to Montoya, because he didn’t notice that. Well, seasoned officer of the law and all.

“Tim.”

And there was the patronizing tone, which made him feel guiltier compared to the anger. (Because deep in his heart, he knew that Montoya didn’t deserve to be burdened with this; dealing with a headstrong, insubordinate, faulty Omega. Yes, Mom, no one deserved to suffer like you did). He avoided Montoya’s eyes, not wanting to deal with the _emotions_ he was sure to see there. Heck, why were they still talking? He needed to—

“We recorded a video because we know that the chances of a meeting would be slim,” she explained, much calmer now, “everything that she wants to say to you guys, she tries to convey through this video. So please, appreciate the effort. If not for me, then for her.”

Her placating tone made him pause. After almost a whole minute of struggling with the choices (so much time wasted, shit), he decided that he would allow this chance. He knew that he wouldn’t easily be appeased by whatever Pamela had to say, but Officer Montoya was right; he should appreciate the effort.

He glanced at Keith, and thanked whatever deity was up there when his friend readily sat down, focusing back on the tablet. Keith’s eyes were hard, though, and Tim knew he’d be as tough to crack.

On the video, Pamela’s whole disposition had changed. She was looking at the camera with soft, sad eyes, and the sight of it made his heart clench.

“Tim. Tim, Keith, listen to me,” she leaned forward, her eyes sincere, “I’m not going to say that I didn’t do this for your and Keith’s sake, because I don’t have your deflecting abilities—” (Tim had to hold in a wince, because that felt too much like being called out.) “and I don’t see the point of lying about it, anyway, because I do _care_ about you, Tim, about both of you.”

Tim breathed in, shaky, but refused to let his reactions out in the open.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Pamela continued, “that I’m doing this out of some obligation, or just naturally answering to my instincts as an Omega, but remember this,” she straightened, and Tim could see her hand tightening in Harleen’s hold, “I’m a teacher, sweetie, and I’m also an Omega, but before all that, I am, and still is, a woman.”

She smiled, lacking its usual sharpness, and she looked so sincere and beautiful that Tim had to look away for a moment.

“A woman who _cares_ about you boys, and you do know how strong women can be when it comes to the things we care about, don’t you?” She paused, grinning at Harleen before turning back toward the camera. “Honey, how do you think we were able to convince Renee? She’s an Alpha, and if we’re talking in the context of instincts, she should be against this whole plan, because she’ll be putting an Omega,” she gestured at herself, “in harm’s way. But she readily agreed to this because she _knows_ how I feel. She knows what it feels like to be a woman who wants to protect someone she cares about.”

Between the haze of his own thought and the noise in his head, Tim was caught off guard when Montoya laid a hand on his shoulder. He looked up at her and saw her nodding, firm and determined, as if confirming Pamela’s sentiment.

“So please, Tim, for once in your life, let someone take care of you. Let _us_ take care of you.”

Tim didn’t miss the strain in Pamela’s voice, and tried hard to will down the lump in his throat.

“I know it’s not easy, not after everything, but trusting someone isn’t a sign of weakness, Tim, and it’s _us_ ,” she once again squeezed Harleen’s hand, “me and Harl and Sel and Renee. You know you can trust us, right? Because we _understand_.”

Something in Tim wanted to object, wanted to negate everything she had said because he’d buried it _deep,_ that part of him that wanted to be paid attention to, one that preened under love and care and affection, one that had no business in this cruel world they lived in, a lesson that Tim had learned the hard way. And yet, this wasn’t some stranger with flowery words, not some Alpha with their cold commands, brimming with authority and arrogance; this was Pamela and her pack. Their pack dynamic was everything Tim considered ideal, a rare example in this universe they lived in.

Tim lifted his head to look at Montoya, and this was also _her_ ; an Alpha who stayed true to her values, one who was risking her career to make sure Tim and Keith could walk away with minimal damage.

The wave of helplessness that washed over him (because he was _weak_ , couldn’t do anything to prevent bad things from happening to them) clashed with a wave of something else, something that he had buried deep.

It didn’t take long for him to realize that it was not just his inner Omega; it was also the child that he had almost forgotten, a young boy who was denied love and warmth because his parents cared too damn much about what other people think and not enough about him. Both of them made themselves known inside of him, unfurling under the feeling of being _cared for_ , and Tim wondered just how long had passed since he allowed them the luxury.

He squeezed his eyes shut and told himself that it wasn’t his fault.

“For once, Tim,” Pamela said, her voice soft, “Keith, please stop fighting. Leave this one round for us, okay? You’ve done more than enough.”

The smile that graced her face was warm, maternal, and Tim didn’t know what to do. He wanted to thank her, scold her, launch himself into her arms, lecture her for being so damn _stupid,_ because someone like him didn’t deserve all this. When he found the strength to look back at the video, he found that it had ended, leaving him staring at a black mirror.

“What’s—” Tim tried, and the watery quality of his own voice made him grit his teeth. “What’re the details, Officer?” Because Pamela didn’t bother to mention what the banishment entailed. If she was hiding something...

“I pulled some strings, and the best I can do for her is temporary banishment; four years off the city. She’s also losing her license to teach and consequently, her job at the Academy,” Montoya explained, to which Tim let out a strained noise.

Keith reacted quickly to the distressed sound, and his fingers found Tim’s arm without hesitation.

“Tim, hey man, c’mon,” Keith soothed, thumbing circles on soft fabric, “she wouldn’t do this if it meant permanently losing her credibility as a chemist. She wouldn’t—” he sucked in a breath, and locked eyes with Montoya, “she didn’t lose it, right?”

Thankfully, Montoya shook her head. “Her chemist licensure is still intact. She’ll still be active in labs, as long as they’re not within city borders.”

“See?” Keith turned back to the other Omega, “small comforts. But hey, we’ll take anything we can get at this point, right?”

“I’m sorry,” Tim said. The apology was abrupt, shaky and pitiful. His head hung low, and he dug his fingers into Keith’s arm. “I’m sorry for dragging you into this. I— I should’ve done this alone because fuck, the only thing this silly stunt does is involving others, innocent others, and now Pamela is bearing the brunt of it and you too, God, Keith, you could’ve tried for that for fighter position in other countries, you still have so many options but now you’re stuck here—”

“Word vomit,” Keith cut him off, a playful edge to his warning. “Like it or not, Tim, I’m here. And you’re not alone.” Strong fingers closed around his forearm, and Tim’s eyes followed the length of slender arms, all the way to the determined lines of Keith’s face.

Tim made a pained face. “Keith...”

“No, Tim, don’t pull that apologetic look on me because I told you,” his hand moved upward, and Tim felt long fingers sneaking through the tendrils of hair on his nape, ones that had managed to escape his ponytail, “together.”

Tim ignored the lump that tickled the base of his throat and covered his eyes with a palm, overwhelmed. How could he forget that there was no arguing with Keith? Not when he was wearing that look on his face, in his eyes. His hand on Tim’s nape was a message, an assurance, a symbol of support and determination, of strength and stubbornness, and Keith’s words—as few as they were—and his gesture told Tim everything he needed to know.

“Alright,” Tim breathed out, eyes finding Keith’s, “let’s kick butts at community service.”

Keith laughed out loud before suddenly head-butting him, which, ow. He groaned in mock discomfort and frowned at Keith, who only shrugged as if saying _don’t be a baby._

They stayed like that for a little while, safe and comfortable in their own personal bubble. Keith’s hand was still perched on his neck, its weight a reminder of _safe and steady and friendship_.

Small comforts, Tim thought to himself.

***

Renee Montoya logged out of the system with a tired sigh, but not before saving her paperwork for the day. The ‘Omega Insurgency’ case, as her coworkers had dubbed it, had been swiftly dealt with, thanks to Renee’s team of wonderful people, the rare ones in the police force who shared her sentiments about how people should treat Omegas.

She had trusted Kitch with crowd control and Bullock with the victims, to which the older man had protested with a, “Why you gotta assign me to wipe Alpha butts, Montoya, some a’ these creeps gimme the heebie jeebies.”

And Renee could relate, because whatever sympathy she had for the Alpha victims had been washed clear as soon as some of them had started barking commands and making demands—all addressed to her, telling her to _do something_ about those insolent Omegas. Some of the demands were downright horrid, and Renee couldn’t believe that these people were members of an educational institution.

All in a day’s work, apparently.

Besides, dealing with the victims wasn’t nearly as stressful as the conversation she'd had with the Omegas. She couldn’t deny that even after agreeing to lend her assistance to Pamela, she still had small shadows of doubt nagging at the back of her head, but after meeting the boys herself she could see why she was so adamant about it, why she insisted it was worth the price.

Tim and Keith were so much more than their secondary gender, and didn’t deserve to be defined by that alone. By doing what they had done, the boys’ chance for a brighter future might be secured, and for Renee, especially, it was an honor to be of service.

Renee had sworn an oath to be brave and loyal, a defender of the city and all of her inhabitants. Unfortunately, it had taken her a mere six months of working in the force to realize that honoring that oath wasn’t equivalent to blindly following the book. The system was flawed, and the law enforcement seemed to prefer the brand of justice that only benefited certain members of the society.

To put it in simple terms, Omega laws were a heapload of bullcrap.

Which was why Renee had worked as hard as she had, made sure to climb up the ladder and gain connections, ones that would enable her to create certain leeways. These leeways weren’t used unless she was working on a case concerning Omegas, making sure that they received the best form of rehabilitation and the right kind of disciplinary actions. Assistant DA Dent had been a really great ally in these endeavors, and with their combined efforts, the number of Omegas sent to correctional facilities had plummeted significantly.

Branden and his boys sneered at her every time they had the unfortunate chance to meet, and to be perfectly honest, she couldn’t care less.

They would argue that her methods were illegal, a form of crime in its own way, to which she would say a big, decorated _fuck you._ No one was making sure that these Omegas were taken care of, and Renee would be damned if she let them suffer as a result of their pack Alphas’ abuse and/or neglect.

She’d had shed blood and tears and sweat to be where she was now, and she was grateful that she had Kate around. Both of them were Alphas, blessed with intense willpower and inherent stubbornness. Both of which should be a recipe for disaster in a relationship, but they somehow made it work.

(”So you’re just gonna hang around draped over me for the rest of the night?”

“That’s the plan.”

“You know, most lovers would say ‘Honey, it’s late. Come back to bed.’“

“Please, I know you better than that. So I’m just gonna cuddle you while you solve whatever exciting crime you’ve got on your plate this week. Don’t mind me.”)

The thought made her chuckle, a reminder of just how lucky she was to have a loyal, strong lover by her side, to take care of her on the rare moments where she was the one who needed care and support. It also made her think of Tim Drake and Keith Kogane, huddled together and desperately clinging to each other.

Acting on instincts, she had tried to offer a modicum of comfort, and she was grateful that they hadn’t swatted her hands away. But even through that small contact, she knew that it wasn’t enough. Her display of care (a hand on each of their shoulders, her scent in the air exuding _Alpha_ and _comfort_ ) had provided the needed consolation, but it was temporary. There was so much more than meet the surface, and Renee’s instincts as an Alpha and her heart as a human had ached.

It didn’t remedy the fact that both of them were suffering from lack of affection and attention, something that should be given to them by pack; their Alphas and Betas. She remembered Pamela’s grim smile, her dejected voice when she had told her that the boys didn’t belong in any pack. Pamela had Harleen and Selina—respectively a Beta and an Alpha—as her pack, and she didn’t care that she had to leave her hometown, because she would still have a place to call _home_ (“Wherever my beautiful girls are, that’s my place,” she had said, eyes alight with affection).

The image of the boys would be seared in her mind for a very long time. It was a painful reminder that for all her hard work, she still had untouchable parts. Some family, some packs, still treated their Omegas like garbage, and it would take a long time and continued effort to finally, finally give Omegas the appreciation they deserve.

She sighed, because even after everything she had done, it still felt like a long, winding, uphill battle.

She leaned back against her seat and closed her eyes. _Small comforts,_ she told herself, repeating what Keith Kogane had said. At least the two Omegas had risen from their hunched position with new vigor, still a force to be reckoned with.

It had brought a satisfied smile to her lips, to see that these fighters were nowhere near done. It also made her remember her own partner, the anchor to her constantly moving ship.

She thumbed open her lockscreen, hit a familiar speed dial, and waited.

“Hey, muñeca,” she purred into the receiver when the other person picked up, “you home?”

“Mhmm, just got back, actually,” and Renee could tell she was telling the truth from the jingling of keys, the sound of a door shutting close, “what is it? Bad day?”

There really was no point in hiding from her, wasn’t it?

Renee sighed, already anticipating the warmth of her skin, the comfort she emanated, and admitted, “yeah, kinda. Feeling much better now, though, and I’m thinking about _pollo guisado_ for tonight. I’ll stop by the grocer before heading home.”

Kate’s answer was a thoughtful hum, followed by a little chuckle. “Alright, I’ll set the table and defrost the chicken thighs. You’re doing all the work, though.”

The playful edge in her voice was encompassed by a sense of understanding, like she knew exactly what was going on in Renee’s head. She probably did, Renee mused, because this would not be the first time Kate let her prepare the dish by herself. Renee craved the mundaneness of the activity, the necessity of constant and precise movement, and Kate understood that, was more than glad to give her what she needed.

The soft caresses, encompassing hugs, and whisper kisses would come later, when they were tangled in a heap of warm sheets and tired limbs, and sleep was only a few blinks away.

Renee got up from her desk, stretched, and made her way to prepare for a blissfully domestic date night with the most wonderful woman in the world.

***

Community service was doable.

Keith could maybe think of another word to describe it, but it was the first word that came to mind. It wasn’t _nice_ or _bad_ , or even anything in between; it was just a routine that was almost comforting in its monotone.

He usually arrived first at the library, waited for five to ten minutes for Tim’s arrival, and the two of them would proceed to report for duty. Their boss—a short, stocky man by the name of Hanson Craig—was a Beta in his late fifties who had worked at the city library for more than half of his life. He was pleasant enough, mostly keeping to himself and leaving the Omegas to do their duties. Archiving wasn’t _fun_ by any means, but it wasn’t horrible, either, so they eased into the routine without a hitch.

Mostly, they went through the routine of labelling, stacking, restacking, checking and double checking with a bit of banter and small talks mixed in. Tim seemed to be in high spirits recently, and Keith was sure that that had everything to do with the constant correspondence he had been having with one Pamela Isley. The lady was now enjoying a luxurious holiday in Rio (“Seriously, that Alpha cig made her so rich she could probably wipe her nose with bills—”) accompanied by her significant other slash partner in crime Harleen Quinzel and her pack Alpha Selina Kyle, who apparently had dropped in for a surprise visit.

Tim grumbled a lot about how he had been worried for nothing and how he would _kill_ to be in her position right now, but Keith was certain that more than anything, he was relieved.

“She sent me a pic of a Romani Alpha lounging on a bed draped in nothing but a piece of _loincloth_ ,” Tim complained, making wild gestures at the air around him, “at seven in the morning, Keith. Seriously. Too early for blue balls.”

Keith sniggered, not even looking up from labeling a tower of books in the crime thriller genre. “She knows you’re a sad little virgin, man. Take it as a form of encouragement.”

Tim made a weird, high pitched sound, like he was offended by the notion. “Take that back, Mullet.”

“It’s a fact, Tim.”

“It’s also hurting my feelings.”

Keith cocked an eyebrow, “you have one?”

Tapping a slender finger to his mouth, Tim finally conceded, “touché.”

The routine was easy and comforting, in a sense. Moreover, whenever Keith was with Tim he didn’t have to think about other things. Like Shiro, for example.

(The static silence was beginning to feel uncomfortable, and Keith fidgeted even though Shiro couldn’t see him through the phone. They weren’t the type of couple who relied on words—Keith wasn’t big on talking and Shiro seemed to understand him perfectly, anyway—but the silence that stretched between them were always companionable, almost serene in quality. Keith wasn’t used to this kind of tenseness, not from Shiro.

The older man already knew about the whole thing—the counseling, the stunt and the aftermath—which meant he also knew that Keith would not be able to attend his own graduation ceremony because he would be preoccupied with community service. In all honesty, Keith had thought that this would be the last straw, that Shiro would finally come to his senses and drop him for all intents and purposes, so he had been beyond shocked when Shiro had called to offer to attend in Keith’s place.

Keith wasn’t even sure if he had thanked Shiro properly, because as soon as that topic had been covered, this weird, silent thing had settled over them. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do now; give an explanation? Apologize? Demand to know why, just _why_ did he bother with a pain in the ass like Keith? He couldn’t settle for anything, so he just stayed quiet.

Shiro hadn’t said anything scornful or incriminating, but it was only a matter of time, so Keith gritted his teeth when Shiro started to speak.

“Did you get what you were looking for?” Was Shiro’s unexpected inquiry, after almost five minutes of radio silence.

Keith blinked, and then remembered that Shiro couldn’t see him through the phone. He didn’t dare to answer for another painful minute, too preoccupied by rolling the question in his head over and over again.

What had been gained?

An image of Tim (his toothy grin, his arctic eyes, his stubborn, sarcastic _everything_ ) popped inside of Keith’s head and he realized that he had the answer.

“I—” he tried, hating himself for sounding unsure. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I did.”

Keith didn’t know what Shiro found in his voice, but the older man only hummed with something akin to contentment, and said, “good. That’s great. Doesn’t mean this discussion is over, though, because we’ll talk about this again, okay? Face to face.”

Keith couldn’t hold in a groan at that and Shiro, the asshole, seemed to find entertainment in his frustration because he laughed before throwing a careless _see you, Keith_ and hanging up the phone.

Keith was so not looking forward to that meeting.)

“Earth to Keith,” Tim said, snapping his fingers in front of Keith’s face. Keith blinked and swatted his hand away with an annoyed growl. The other Omega only shrugged and said, “your head were up in the clouds for a minute there, man.”

“Huh,” Keith said. Had he been that obvious?

“Yea,” Tim nodded, twirling a pen between his fingers, “a Shiro-shaped cloud, I bet.”

That made him pause. He met Tim’s eyes (the bastard was making a pose like he was some King, like he knew _everything_ that was going on in Keith’s head) and delivered his best death glare.

“That’s a disturbing mental image,” he bit out, “also kindly fucking shut up.”

Tim only cackled in response, so Keith ignored him for the rest of the shift.

***

Usually, Tim and Keith would wrap up at fifteen to five, finishing whatever job that had been assigned to them. They’d pack up quietly and efficiently, report back to Mr. Craig, wish him good night, and be on their way. Today, though, after finishing the final reports, the ever quiet man stopped them on their track.

“Boys,” he started, “there’s someone here to see you.”

Keith’s eyebrows shot toward his hairline. That was...unexpected.

Tim, not one to beat around the bush, tilted his head and asked, “Is that allowed?”

Mr. Craig sucked in a breath. He wore a conflicted expression on his face, and Keith observed him with narrowed eyes, his suspicion climbing. The older man was quiet for a few heartbeats, looking at the boys with worry, and then admitted, “Actually, it’s not.”

Keith was fast to pick up the distress in the man’s voice. “But you still need us to meet this person.”

Mr. Craig had been getting quite used to Keith’s brand of straightforwardness, but he still couldn’t help the wince that passed his features for a split second.

“He’s very...persistent about it, and he’s made it clear that he will be very cross with me if I don’t cooperate, and...”

Mr. Craig trailed off, most likely not knowing how to admit that he had been pressured by an Alpha to grant an audience with the Omegas. The thought of having to face an Alpha—and a jerk at that, judging by the way he used the most primitive tactic against the _lesser_ genders—made Keith’s nose wrinkle in disgust, but he was never one to back down.

“Tim,” he muttered.

Without having to confirm, Tim answered with a quiet, “yeah,” and proceeded to regard Mr. Craig with an air of calmness.

“Mr. Craig,” he began, lightly touching the old man’s wrist, “it’s okay, it’s not your fault. We’ll handle it from here.”

Mr. Craig seemed reluctant, and Keith could understand why. He was the one responsible for them during community service, and if anything were to happen, Keith wouldn’t like to be on the receiving end of Montoya’s wrath, either.

“Don’t worry,” Keith tried, wanting to ease the man’s mind because really, he wasn’t in the wrong. Some jerk Alpha pushed him into a corner. “We’ll be fine.”

He wasn’t good at communicating, he knew that, but maybe the combination of his voice and Tim’s touch did something because the old man finally sighed. His shoulders were still slumped, but at least he didn’t look as stressed as he had been.

Tim gave him one more pat and a grin. “If he turned out to be an asshole, we can always give his ID to Montoya and make sure he stays the hell away. You’ve got him on record, right?”

Mr. Craig’s eyes went wide and he clapped his hands together, as if remembering something. “I certainly do! Oh, you are such a smart boy, Tim.”

In response, Tim’s grin got wider while Keith let out a sigh. “Don’t stroke his already inflated ego, Mr. Craig. Where’s this guy anyway?”

“He’s in the waiting room, said he’d like some privacy,” Mr. Craig pointed to the aforementioned room and halted the boys once more when they started to head that direction. “Be careful, boys, and don’t hesitate to call for help if anything happens.”

Keith’s eyes softened and he gave Mr. Craig one of his rare smiles as he tugged Tim along. “We will. Thanks, Mr. Craig.”

The old librarian was genuinely worried, if the way he had his eyes on them was any indication, but Keith’s focus had shifted. He opened the door to the waiting room without knocking, because he sure as fuck wouldn’t bother with pleasantries when facing some jerk Alpha.

The man standing in the center of the room was tall and broad, bearing the textbook physicality of an Alpha. He was decorated in tasteful and expensive things; starting from his suit, his wristwatch, to the ring that sat on his finger, one that bore some kind of insignia. If this guy was looking to make an impression, well.

Keith was already impressed by his absolute lack of respect for the other genders.

“Gentlemen,” the Alpha greeted, a smile floating onto his expression. His grin was sharp and business-like, and really, they shouldn’t be expecting any kind of _genuine_ from these types.

“Do us a favor and be quick,” Keith barked out, wanting to be done as soon as possible, “what the hell do you want.”

The Alpha didn’t seem to be offended by the blatant hostility, but that could only be on the surface.

“Please, let us not rush,” he offered, holding out a hand in a placating gesture, “let me introduce myself first. I am Zarkon.”

The man dug something out of his pocket and held out a business card in front of the Omegas. Tim was the one who took it, keeping his arctic blue gaze on Zarkon the entire time.

“Galra Records,” Tim read, “your company?”

“Well observed,” Zarkon replied, “I was there, at your Academy’s dance party. Let me offer you the highest of compliments, because that was unlike anything I’ve ever seen before.”

Upon his words, Tim and Keith let their guards up once again. The question hung in the air, unvoiced but ringing loud nonetheless; were you affected?

Zarkon only smiled, a touch of danger on the curve of his mouth.

“The ones who fell, they were weak. Unworthy to be called Alphas,” he stated in a deep, strong voice, “they do not deserve to stake a claim on Omegas, especially ones as strong and as...unusual as the two of you.”

Keith was sure that it wasn’t meant to be derisive comment, but he still felt a chill run down his spine. Zarkon might look like one of those whitebread, good for nothing, entitled Alpha, but now Keith realized that they were too quick to come to that conclusion. This man was different, and not in a way that was familiar to both Tim and Keith.

Tim, however, was fast to retort. “Thank you for the _insight_ , Mr. Zarkon, but you haven’t answered our very first question: what do you want with us?”

The answering smile was even more peculiar than the ones he had displayed before, eerie enough that Keith’s inner Omega started sending mixed signals; _submit or run or fight the fuck back_ , and he couldn’t decide. He glanced at Tim, and the other boy was experiencing something similar, if the hard set of his mouth and the tenseness of his body were any indication.

Before they could do anything, though, Zarkon had already spoken.

“I am here to make a proposition.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hullo here's the author checking in again to address some Stuff Things:  
> 1\. I'm not an expert at law n I sure as heck made some pretty liberal takes on how the justice system works in this AU. What I do know is; the banishment order actually exists in some countries, even tho most judges see it as a sort of punishment that is 'inhumane'. I hope I didn't strike any sensitive nerve by using this particular form of punishment on Pam sobs pls I lov her as much as u guys do ;_;
> 
> 2\. When Pam addressed the fact that she was a woman who cares n protects, by no means am I implying that being caring n protecting are qualities that exist exclusively in women. This is a form of celebration of some sort; that women are filled to the brim w/ the most wonderful qualities ever found in humans, n that we should pride ourselves for embracing those qualities.
> 
> 3\. I KNOW OK I FRIGGIN KNOW THAT RENEE AND KATE BROKE UP BUT DAMN THIS IS FANFICTION LEMME HAVE MY FUN BRENT
> 
> Adahdksah that's it I guess thank u for reading this far u guys :^)


	4. Four: The Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fame is not really that surprising, considering the unusual chain of events that had led into the forming of their band, even though Tim will admit that some parts have been exaggerated by yours truly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actual conclusion guys woohoo prepare for smth at the end ;)

That was a story from one year ago; the supposed origin of their band.

Now, Tim and Keith are more well-known as members of The Rouges, an up and coming rock duo who, quote, has no business to be as famous as they are in their starting year, end quote. The fame is not really that surprising, considering the unusual chain of events that had led into the forming of their band, even though Tim will admit that some parts have been exaggerated by yours truly.

By yours truly, Tim means the media a.k.a. the bane of Tim’s existence. Sure, not all journalists are complete asswipes, but Tim can only think of approximately a dozen interviews that doesn’t start with, ‘Seeing as you’re a pair of Omegas...’

And they usually have more than five interviews per month. Journalism really needs to get creative.

On the plus side, some of the stuff they’ve written about Tim, Keith, or the two of them as a unit are downright _hilarious._

“Check it out, Keith, they actually think you’re gonna get it on with Lotor,” Tim snickers, addressing an article speculating Keith’s apparent closeness with a fellow artist under Zarkon’s label. “They said, and I quote, would the Rebellious Scarlet Knight finally submit to The Prince’s charm? Scandalous, indeed.”

Keith only gives him an absentminded hum in response, and that doesn’t sound right. He usually launches into a rant about how he can’t stand Lotor’s smarmy, narcissistic existence, no matter how good his hair conditioner smells. Small pangs of worry begin to settle in Tim’s chest, and he lifts his head to find his friend.

Keith’s form is huddled over the kitchen counter, wrapped in a threadbare tank top and Tim’s old sweatpants. His eyes are trained on his phone like the thing is going to explode right on his face, but the fidget of his hands tells Tim that he’s actually _itching_ to pick the device up.

One look at his face, and Tim has a pretty good guess of what’s going on inside of that head.

“You’re gonna have to text him back at one point, you know,” he starts, gouging Keith’s reaction.

His bandmate actually flinches at his words, and proceeds to faceplant on the table, groaning. Tim sighs and gets up from his perch on the couch, approaching Keith’s dejected form. After draping himself along Keith’s back and brushing a supportive kiss on the back of his head, Tim opens his mouth.

“Shiro’s not gonna judge, y’know. I’m sure he’s aware that our job poses significant risks.”

“I just,” Keith begins, swallowing the lump in his throat to get the words out, “Shiro hasn’t said a word against this whole thing,” he gestures to himself and Tim, and Tim knows that he means ‘their job as a band’, “because he’s polite like that. But I know better, Tim, I’ve known him _forever._ He’s been...wary, and constantly worried about me, and I really, really don’t like that. And I’m not sure I wanna know what he thinks about us hiring a _bodyguard._ It’s like, validating his worries, you know?”

Tim nods, because he understands Keith well enough to know that he doesn’t mean anything bad by that. From the very first moment of their meeting, Tim and Keith have established that they both despise the general public’s opinions surrounding Omegas. That includes the notion that Omegas aren’t capable of protecting themselves.

Having Alphas looming on their backs, constantly worrying and being all protective only serves to solidify the notion, and most of the time, Tim finds it annoying rather than hot.

“We’ve been doing alright on our own so far, so why a bodyguard?” Frustration is beginning to color Keith’s voice. “Someone who will have us under constant surveillance, a total _stranger_ who will practically live with us, Tim, fuck, and this is supposed to be about our safety? Have they lost their minds?”

Tim won’t lie to himself; he does share Keith’s sentiment of the situation, including every single one of its implications. It’s unnecessary, not to mention suspicious. Which is why he had persisted to negotiate a leverage for them.

“For a trial period, Keith,” Tim tries, curling his fingers around Keith’s to try to calm him down, “I made Zarkon promise to call the whole thing off after three months, if the bodyguard proves to be useless.”

He pokes his head forward and presses his cheek to Keith’s, feeling the beginning of stubble on his skin.

“Which they will, because we’re both pretty good at protecting ourselves, don’t you think?”

Tim delivers the line with a teasing lilt, rubbing their heads together playfully. The gesture pulls a laugh out of Keith, who promptly rubs a hand along his own ribcage.

“Yeah,” Keith agrees as he touches a healing bruise on his stomach, “you land painful kicks, man. I already feel sorry for your future molesters.”

Tim wiggles his eyebrows and untangles himself from Keith, relieved to have changed the mood. He proceeds to return to his perch on the couch and grabs the forgotten bag of marshmallows, shoving some pieces into his mouth.

“Anyways,” he manages around a mouthful, “text him, call him, whatever. Shiro’s not a bigot, Keith, he won’t think any less of you even if we have a bodyguard around. But, uh...” Tim pauses and sends Keith a sheepish grin, “I think he’s gonna have a different reaction entirely when he finds out that the bodyguard’s an A.”

That makes Keith purse his lips, like he just ate something unpleasant.

“Oh great, I’m gonna have to prepare myself for a lecture about being careful around unknown Alphas,” he groans, running a hand through his hair.

“He only wants what’s best for you, Keith.”

“Don’t get me wrong. Shiro’s a real nice A, Tim, but I’m not like, _five._ ”

Tim can’t really empathize with that because he doesn’t have anyone who acts like an older brother figure in his life. From what he’s seen, he’s fairly positive that Keith’s annoyance at Shiro’s protective streak (because, pfft, his friend is just as protective of the older man, if not more, and one of these days, Tim would drop the reality bomb on Keith and make him eat his own fist) is mostly just for show. Tim wonders if that’s the general theme of every brotherly relationship.

“Good luck, man, and tell him I said hello,” he settles to say, and then lets out a little _oh_ as something registers in his brain. “Don’t forget to clear everything on the 20th ‘cause Thace wants us to meet Mister, uh, Janice...Turing or something.”

Keith stares at him, mouth slack in incredulity.

“That’s a joke, right?” Keith demands, and looks like he’s five seconds away from popping a vein when Tim only tilts his head, “it’s _Jason Todd_ , Tim, oh my fucking _God_ give me strength. Do you even remember Thace’s briefing? You’re supposed to be the one with eidetic memory!”

Tim won’t let Keith mouth him off like that, no siree.

“Well, excuse me, Keith, for not remembering every single second of my life and all of its fucking detail in complete _clarity,_ ” Tim shoots back.

He counts it as a win when Keith only throws his hands up to the air and makes a move towards the balcony. Before he’s completely out of the room, Tim hears his grumbles of, “can’t believe I put up with this shit on a daily basis Lord knows I need a raise.”

“That’s right, Keith, go be a drama queen somewhere else!” Tim shouts, and Keith responds with slamming the balcony door as loud as he can.

Tim sticks his tongue out at the door because he’s a little shit and well, because Keith can’t see. He relaxes back on the couch with a sigh and closes his eyes. He might have been half asleep during that particular briefing with Thace, but he _did_ read Thace and Ulaz’s remarks regarding their new bodyguard.

It takes him five seconds to conjure the words he’s seen on the paperworks, and it goes along the lines of:

Jason Peter Todd shows promising potential to be effective and efficient at doing the job that will be assigned to him. He’s a solid combatant, and his muscle strength and reflexes are above average. The fact that he’s an Alpha will also assist in eliminating potential threats by intimidation, so the chances of actual conflicts will be slimmer.

He has impressive control over his instincts; which we believe to be the result of a training of some sort, even though he only reveals it to be ‘a necessity in the family.’ As a result to that, he’s also very protective of Omegas. Upon further psychological evaluation, it appears that this protectiveness is rooted from a sense of righteousness rather than misplaced possessiveness. He displays rare qualities that are usually hard to find among Alphas, so we decide to give the man a chance.

A little precaution; he seems to be very passionate, and we cannot decide if it’s good or bad, not yet. Nevertheless, he’s passed the physical test and the psychological evaluation with high results so as of this moment, we are confident to hire him. If in the future he proves to pose any kind of threat upon Tim and Keith, we will not hesitate to take necessary measures.

“Huh,” Tim exhales when he’s finished recollecting, perplexed. It isn’t easy to win Thace and Ulaz’s favor, but this guy seems to have left a really nice impression on them. Their opinions are usually solid, so there’s high chance that this Jason Todd might actually be a decent Alpha.

That’s a good thing, right?

“Well,” he mumbles to himself, popping another piece of marshmallow into his mouth, “guess I’ll be meeting you, Mister Todd.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnndd that marks the end of this self indulgent AU :^) The silly idea sprouted into a beast of 24k words wow I rly let myself loose on this one ehehehe. Anyways I know that I left this w/ an open ending (not that unpredictable bc I added the tags but it's still an open ending) so u are free to imagine what happens next; let your ideas run wild! Until the end of it, this story still doesn't have any conclusive pairing n I'm sorry for that,, but I hope u enjoyed the little hints I threw in there...?
> 
> Lastly, thank u for sticking around till the end. Truly. U don't know how much it means to me sobs u guys rock \o/
> 
> OOOOHH ALSO. I have twitter come say hi if u wanna ;) --> [@timmydraqe](https://twitter.com/timmydraqe)


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